Two Steps From Hell
by ssserpensssotia
Summary: In the new world, where the borders between good and evil become transparent and absolute power is in the elegant hands of one charming, immortal Dark Lord, Hermione Granger tries to balance on the thin, sharp blade and that could either make her great or kill her. The biggest problem is that Hermione isn't even sure anymore what she really wants. Story told from several POVs.HG/LV
1. Avada Kedavra

**_Two Steps From Hell_**

_Please read before you proceed._

_This story will have three parts._

_**I, Horcrux** is the first part. (no pairing, completed)_

_**Two Steps From Hell** is the second part. (Tentative HG/LV, completed)_

_**Horcrux Mine** is the third part. (Established HG/LV, in progress)_

_The story will contain sexual relationship between Hermione Granger and Lord Voldemort._

_If you believe in redeemed! Voldemort/Tom, or expect him to be fluffy and nice, then this story is not for you._

_If you believe in superpower! Hermione, or if you see Hermione as a simple and frigid girl, then this story is not for you._

_If you want to read about in character Voldemort and Hermione come together, then this story is for you. And I say Welcome!_

_The story will contain a lot of dark and adult themes. _

_Told from different POVs._

_Rating M._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No profit is being made. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_For Nerys_

_xxx_

_**I, Horcrux **_

xxx

Chapter One

_**Present time**_

Numb, but not numb enough.

_Shattered._

Utterly and completely crushed.

Smashed down with inhuman force from the Heavens and thrown into the deepest circles of Hell.

_Violated. _

Hermione Granger was just seventeen; she was _young_.

Too young to feel so old, the physical body not reflecting her mental age.

There, in the mindscapes, she was older than she should have ever been. Much older.

Each new year after turning eleven had been worse than the last. Each year, she saw things that were not meant to be seen, did things that no teenager should have done, and experienced more than it could be considered healthy.

Tremendous, unthinkable, _magical._

Ever since finding out she was a witch, Hermione Granger strived to impress, to belong, to prove her worthiness, not only to the rest of the magical world, but to herself foremost. She wanted, needed, to be her own person.

Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor through and through. Not because she was loud or reckless, like many who shared her House.

Before coming to Hogwarts, Hermione Granger would have not thought she was brave or daring; she used to be so closed off and introverted, not needing to show or even acknowledge those traits.

How everything had changed…

The Sorting Hat_ had_ warned her. It said that even the brightest of minds could crumble if the weight they chose to carry was too heavy. That responsibility came with a great price that not all were ready to pay.

The Sorting Hat had offered Ravenclaw. Hermione Granger valued intelligence, knowledge, and creativity, but somehow, against her better judgment, she chose Gryffindor. Without any outside influence, Hermione Granger chose her own destiny.

Hermione Granger chose to help Harry Potter in his fight for his life—in the fight for_ their_ lives.

Hermione Granger chose not to give up, not to run away, not to _hide_.

Hermione Granger was no fool. She knew from the day one _what_ could await her, and still, Hermione Granger chose to stand tall near her friends. Shoulder to shoulder, _together_. And the consequences be damned.

Hermione Granger chose many things, but she did not choose __this_**.**_

This _thing**.**_

Hermione Granger was ready to sacrifice her life. But never expected this_. Never._

xxx

_**One hour ago**_

"Ron!" A horrified scream of the Boy Who Lived echoed through the ancient corridors of Hogwarts, letting the pain and desperation cling to the cold walls.

"No!" A second scream followed. Emotions so thick and so raw lacing just one word were so honest and powerful that it seemed that even the dead could feel them.

Harry Potter raced between the bodies, his heart clenched in agony and pain. There, only a few meters away, lay the prone figure of his best friend. His mop of bright orange hair was soaked in blood, robes shattered and torn. Harry could see Hermione dropping to her knees before the still figure of Ronald Weasley. Through blurred vision, Harry could see Hermione gently touching Ron's head with her wand, and he prayed to all the gods he knew that Ron survived.

That he hadn't died.

_Please._

A brutal sob escaped Hermione when Harry finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, reached his best friends.

Unable to breathe through panic and horror, anticipating the worst, Harry turned his pleading eyes to Hermione, as if begging her to spare him. Not to tell. Let the denial shadow his conscience's inhuman shuddering.

_Not Ron, please…_

"He's dead." A statement, not a question. How could it be any other way? Everyone he came to love had died or were going to die soon. Why should Ron, his best friend Ron, be any different?

Denial had never been Harry Potter's best friend, and it didn't stick around for long enough to even breathe.

A gentle, but fierce, hand slapped him in the face.

"Shut up!" a shivering Hermione demanded through clenched teeth.

Harry could see the tears flowing down her face, like a waterfall that reminded him of his failures. All because of_ him._

"He's alive." A whisper.

Relief so strong that Harry had to keep himself up with one hand, squatting near his friends, washed over him, entering every fiber of his being.

_Thank God._

_xxx_

"Harry," Hermione whispered again with a stronger voice, looking into the desperate green eyes. "He's in a coma."

She did not want to analyze, to rationalize, or to just think. Ron, her Ron, was in a deep magical coma and there was nothing she could do. He had been hit by a spell that was meant for _her. _It was _her_ fault if those blue eyes never looked at her again. She wasn't fast enough.

A whimper escaped Harry Potter's closed lips when Molly Weasley raced to her fallen child. A wail so desperate that both Harry and Hermione shuddered.

"No, no, no… No! Pl-, plea-se, I beg you, please," incomprehensible sobbing was all that escaped Molly's mouth as her unseeing eyes traveled over her youngest son. Trembling hands gently, too gently to be normal, laced through blood soaked hair, unseeing eyes full of tears and a soul so crushed was all they could see.

"He needs medical attention, now," finally gathering her wits, pushing her guilt and horror aside, Hermione Granger pleaded. "He's been hit by two curses, he's in coma but he is _alive_."

Molly's head snapped to her side so quickly that Hermione thought she could hear bones breaking.

"Al-alive?" The hope in Molly Weasley's voice made Hermione's horror-frozen heart miss a beat.

Frank and Alice Longbottom had also been alive. _But to what extent?_

Empty brown eyes of the Weasley matriarch stared at Hermione. The pain of a mother who had already lost one son today and thought that she had lost another, was too much, too hard to take, and Hermione Granger for the first time averted her eyes to Harry. She couldn't watch those emotions unravel and suffocate her. She needed to_ breathe_.

"Pomfrey is here, she'll-" Arthur Weasley's unsteady, trembling voice was interrupted by a cold, emotionless one.

"**Harry Potter****.****"**

Never before had Hermione heard so much hatred, animosity, and loathing in just two words. So much arrogance.

"**Come to me, Harry Potter, and I shall spare those who defy me. Come to me and those around you will live."** Voice so cold and ruthless, like a coiled serpent ready to strike, echoed through the halls of Hogwards, making all those inside freeze and listen.

"**If you don't come until midnight to face me, all those around you—yes, Harry, look at them—all will be slaughtered".**

Wide eyed Harry looked around, seeing only horror and devastation. And _hope_.

A sick feeling twisted his guts and his heart stopped for a second. Guilt unlike any before was eating him alive, as if the Fiendfyre flames escaped the Room of Requirement and manifested in his heart.

Burning him, eating him. Suffocating.

"No, Harry!" a pained but strong voice made Harry turn to face Hermione Granger's trembling form.

"You will not go to him," Hermione repeated more forcefully, as if sensing what he was feeling. As if Hermione also felt those hopeful eyes on him. On _her_.

Molly Weasley had her eyes closed, as if afraid that should she open them and should Harry look closely, he'd see hope. Hope that was so wrong and out of place, but it was still hope—to see all her children alive, to be able to live. _She wasn't the only one_.

"**You have one hour**_**, Harry. **_**Don't make me come for you**_**. **_**"**

Lord Voldemort's magnified voice scratched his soul with long, sharp nails and left as quietly as it came.

Closing his eyes for a second, Harry tried his best to gather his famous Gryffindor courage and just _go._ He needed his bravery to move his damn legs, as they were frozen in place, unwilling to march to his own death.

He _would_ go. He _would_.

He just needed some seconds. Those tiny seconds that mattered nothing in the scope of time, that were nothing but a small grain of sand compared to the rest of the day, this horrible, endless day.

But as destiny's twisted humor once again made itself known, it had been those seconds that changed the whole world. _That mattered_.

Had Harry kept his eyes open, he would have seen it, and maybe, _maybe, _he could have prevented it.

But maybe was not enough in this case, for Harry's eyes remained closed, and he didn't see the determination that manifested and affirmed in brown eyes, determination that was so strong that it could have cut through walls.

Hermione Granger swallowed hard. Her mind was made.

xxx

She knew that chasing after Harry especially when he had his invisibility cloak was fruitless.

She just _knew _that Harry would run away from her.

Harry Potter was even more Gryffindor that her, and look where she was now—reclined against a damp tree near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, half crouching and half sitting, shivering from anticipation that was eating her from inside out.

After Harry had run towards the Headmaster's office, she'd followed. Like a Slytherin—quietly and steadily.

Harry refused to let anyone, especially her, accompany him. Voldemort's words found their way to Harry's already bleeding heart and pushed.

Hermione did not know what Professor Snape had left for Harry to see. She didn't have a chance to find out, as the staircase to the Headmaster's Office refused to let her in after Harry had entered. The only place where Hermione could interfere was the opening where Voldemort and his Death Eaters were waiting. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that Voldemort, Lord Voldemort, would be unable to detect her; invisibility spells or not, he would know. And it would have been too early. She needed to stay undetected.

She had made her choice and there was nothing that would stop her.

Armed with her wand only, Hermione Granger waited.

xxx

"I am ready to die."

Hermione Granger bit her lip until her mouth was filled with metallic taste of blood. She wanted to rage and scream, but there was nothing she could do while she watched her best friend whisper quietly to the Snitch.

_I open at the end._

How? How could Dumbledore do that to Harry? How could he have done it to _them_? Was it normal for teenagers to take all the weight of today's horrors onto their shoulders and stand tall?

Hermione Granger had no time to think about Professor Dumbledore, or philosophy of life, as her best friend was now quickly walking towards his death.

Picking up the stone that Harry had left on the ground—she'd think about the stone later—Hermione followed.

xxx

Harry didn't stop, didn't falter; he kept going.

Admiration and sublime respect were melting the ice in her chest, as Hermione quietly but quickly ran behind Harry, her steps and movements not visible to human eyes and ears.

She was useful, Hermione tried to tell herself. She was more useful to Harry than to Ron. Harry needed her now. She wasn't running after Harry just to get killed. Even though she was afraid to think about future, she wasn't running away from her problems just to end up tortured and slaughtered.

She was _helping_.

It was for the greater good.

xxx

"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived has come to die," his voice was as merciless and cold as he was.

Hermione Granger stood a few steps behind Harry, partially hiding behind a tree trunk. She needed to get closer but couldn't do so without Voldemort noticing, even though his full attention now belonged to Harry.

Her Harry was standing tall and proud, showing no fear of dying as Voldemort raised his bone-white wand and _smiled_.

It was too early, too fast; Hermione had awaited a longer monologue, or maybe more action. But no, it seemed Lord Voldemort was in no mood to talk. He just wanted to kill Harry. For good.

She was now close, close enough to see Harry close his eyes when he should have been fighting. His wand wasn't even directed at Voldemort. He was giving up.

She wouldn't allow it.

xxx

The wand made a short circular movement before being pointed directly at Harry Potter.

_This was it_, Harry thought. He was a Horcrux for Merlin's sake! It was too much, too horrible. To know that as long as you lived, Voldemort would live as well. Nagini was still alive, but Harry had all his hope placed in his best friend's hands. No matter what, Hermione would destroy it.

And then … and then they could destroy Voldemort.

He had to die.

They both had to die.

xxx

"_Avada Kedavra."_

Green light so bright that it blinded in its glory as it rushed towards the still standing Harry Potter left Lord Voldemort's wand, directed and ordered to capture and destroy.

Red eyes widened and the thin lips opened in a scream when a body pushed Harry Potter from behind and _almost_ away from the path of the curse. But not away enough as Harry Potter managed to push back.

And then the green light engulfed _both_ figures.

xxx

To be continued...


	2. King's Cross with Albus

_Beta : Serpent In Red_

**I, Horcrux  
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**Chapter Two  
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Disbelief. Pure and outrageous denial raced through Harry Potter's every cell as he saw Hermione appear from behind, pushing him away from the Killing Curse's path.

No. No, no, no! Not Hermione, not his Hermione sacrificing her life for him. Like so many other. Like his mom and dad, Sirius and Cedric … like Snape and Dumbledore … like Dobby..like Hedwig...

He had to die!

Never before had Harry been _this_ scared, never felt so hopeless, and Harry had seen his fair share of horror.

She didn't know. She didn't know he just had to die!

As the green light engulfed them both—he was too damned late to push Hermione completely away—Harry closed his eyes in defeat. _That was not meant to happen._

_xxx_

Everything was white. Finally finding the needed strength to open her eyes and sit up, Hermione Granger in absolute fascination and disbelief found herself on the platform, surrounded by a white mist.

_So this is death then. _

It wasn't a surprise that she did end up dead. She wasn't Harry Potter who had survived the Killing Curse. She was Hermione Granger and she made her bed. Remorse and guilt, she would handle later. For now, she needed to understand where she was and why she was here.

She was dead, wasn't she?

Quietly getting up, noticing that her torn clothes was now fully intact and looked completely new, as if just purchased and worn for the first time. Taking a precautious sniff, Hermione noted the light scent of lotus and vanilla.

_My favorite._

Hermione's lips stretched into a serene smile. She'd done it. She saved Har-

A loud moan suddenly pierced the serenity surrounding Hermione.

_What … cannot be._

Suddenly frantic, all previous thoughts flew out of her head, and Hermione struggled through the thick fog.

_I am not alone._

Her legs refused to move, or they did move, but not fast enough. Nothing could be fast enough when Hermione finally saw the curled figure near the bench.

_Harry._

Hadn't she been dead, her head and heart would have exploded, Hermione was just sure of it.

There was no way that Harry was here. It was not possible.

But here he was—in a fetus-like position, eyes closed and not moving. As Hermione violently tugged on his arm, Harry's eyes opened.

Horror.

That was the only thing Hermione could read in Harry's eyes.

Pure, unveiled _horror_.

Just about as Harry tried to open his uncooperative lips and say something, Hermione saw a tall figure approaching them.

Trying her damnedest not to lose those last precious parts of her rational mind, Hermione gaped at the approaching figure, noting the long white beard and the type of robes that only one wizard had worn.

"Professor_,"_ Hermione breathed in amazement and anticipation.

_Were they all dead?_

If Hermione thought that she had seen a horror-struck expression before, it was nothing, _nothing, _compared to the utter gut-wrenching horror she could see now fully blossoming on Professor Dumbledore's face.

An old, wrinkled hand was now clasped tightly in front of Dumbledore's mouth, _shaking._

"Prof-" she tried to somehow shove the building terror and panic away, but the tears, _those tears, _were now cascading down the old Headmaster's face. And she couldn't even _breathe_. 

_xxx_

Run.

Run for your life, run away from danger, run towards escape, just _run._

Harry had done his fair share of running but never before had he felt this overwhelming urge to just run _back _and _fix it._

Fix this impossible situation, rewrite this horrible scenario, just _fucking do_ something.

It was just too wrong.

Hermione, his best friend Hermione, who he had met all those long years ago, was _here. Dead. _Just like him.

His best friend, who had never let him down, never abandoned him, never gave up on him. She was the only one who was a constant in his unfair and tragic life. While Ginny had been his ray of light, Hermione had been a constant warming sun, her presence always giving him support and courage. She never doubted him, never betrayed. She was the only one who was always honest with him. His Hermione.

Ever since that troll accident in their first year, she was with him. Her and Ron.

At the thought about his other best friend, Harry's already bleeding heart expanded and filled with unmistakable sense of doom.

_Wouldn't surprise me, if Ron joined us soon,_ Harry thought in an almost deranged panic.

They were all here—dead—because _he had failed._

He couldn't breathe and didn't even care anymore. He had failed them all.

Harry Potter would have loved nothing more than to close his eyes forever and not feel his insides clench with terror and guilt. The guilt had been more than overwhelming. How could he have not noticed Hermione? How could he have allowed her to sacrifice her life for _him?_

Bitter with guilt and up the pole, Harry finally gathered his strength and got up, pushing Hermione's hand away.

_How could she have done it?_

"My brave, brave children." A quiet defeated sob was what finally had gotten Harry's attention.

Dumbledore was here.

Hope, this sickening hope that spread like a wild fire in his blood, rose its ugly head again.

_Dumbledore would help. He was the only one that could help! He'd get Hermione out of here!_

Finally remembering how to breathe properly, Harry turned to his old mentor only to take a step back.

Dumbledore was crying.

Dumbledore never cried, even when he was ready to die.

What changed?

Tremor run down Harry's spine and through his whole body , making him shake like a leaf.

_What happened to the Horcrux?_

Almost breaking his neck, Harry quickly looked around. There was nothing else here. Just them.

_Where was it?_

It didn't work. Professor Dumbledore had said that he needed to allow Voldemort to kill him. And he did allow him. So where was the damned Horcrux? Was it gone?

"I am so very sorry," Professor Dumbledore whispered quietly while placing one shaking hand onto his knees, sitting like a broken statue on a bench. "This was not supposed to happen."

"Professor, where is it? Is it gone? Did Voldemort destroy his Horcrux?" Harry needed to know. He just needed to know that he had managed to get rid of that vile piece of a soul. He needed to know he hadn't failed at everything. And then, he could find a way to bring Hermione back. They would find a way. 

_xxx_

A pitched sob tore its way from Hermione's white lips. She pressed them so _hard_ together that they felt numb.

Numb, but not numb enough, for a horrified sob managed to escape. And it made it all so much more real.

Harry was a Horcrux.

Hermione Granger was far from stupid and it didn't take long for her to piece the puzzle together.

Harry was supposed to die in order to kill the Horcrux that had been inside of him since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow all those years ago. Harry and Professor Dumbledore had this planned.

And then she interfered.

_What had she done?_

"Harry, Miss Granger." The old Headmaster stood up on shaking legs and offered a watery smile that didn't reach those blue defeated eyes. "You are so strong, both of you—"

Harry swallowed his shame and trepidation while Hermione could feel her own tears running freely on her pained face.

"—and I have never been more proud in my whole life."

Harry and Hermione could both feel it, there was something in the old Professor's face that told them it wasn't all. Something was coming and it was _big._

Sick with anticipation, already knowing somewhere deep inside, Harry asked again.

"Is it destroyed?"

Hermione couldn't hold it in anymore and she puked. She puked because the terror had been too great. She already knew the answer.

"I am afraid not, my boy."

It pained Dumbledore to say it out loud. It pained him so much to admit it, admit _defeat._ It all went wrong, so wrong.

Sixteen years of waiting, all the sacrifices that had to be made … it was all for nothing.

It was a pure nightmare. It was not supposed to happen.

"Where is it then? It's still in me, isn't it?" Terrified green eyes looked directly into the pain-filled blue ones.

So it was in him. Again. But how?

Yes. Of course. Definitely. Forever.

Harry would have preferred to hear one of those words come out from Dumbledore's mouth.

Anything but _this._

"No."

_Where then?_

_xxx_

Albus Dumbledore was many things—a brilliant student, a magical prodigy, a manipulator, a liar, a schemer, an old man—but he was no fool.

He knew just how risky this whole circus was. Juggling so many pieces in the air could bring only two results—complete success or total destruction.

He could do only so many things contemporaneously. He couldn't tear a part of himself and let it take care of the Hallows. He couldn't clone himself to resist the increasing attacks from Voldemort.

He had so many things to do and he was completely alone.

Sometimes, Albus Dumbledore thought that he had taken a piece of a cake too big to swallow. And then he would choke.

_Desperate._

He was simply too desperate. He could not allow Tom to destroy everything he had worked so hard for.

He had to risk.

And risk he did.

Standing near a column on the King's Cross—here Albus had to marvel at the humor of universe—he could only hope. And wait for Harry to come.

_xxx_

A breath of relief escaped Albus Dumbledore's lips as he saw a figure materialize from thin air. He felt such a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders.

Harry … he was everything Albus could wish for; the boy had been so strong, so brave, so selfless.

And they made it. The world would soon be free from Voldemort's terror.

_xxx_

It wasn't horror. It wasn't even close to that. It was so much more terrible. There was just no word for how he felt now, looking dumbly at the prone figure of Hermione Granger.

_How?_

_Where had he made such a crucial mistake?_

With increasing horror, he observed how another entity coiled around the body of Hermione Granger, like an angry snake released from captivity, it circled around, making smaller and tighter rounds until fully imbedding itself into her magical core, tarnishing it with its vile presence.

And he could do nothing to stop it.

With a shaking hand, Albus covered his eyes for this was more than he could take.

And now his conscience had to carry his eternal guilt.

He had risked too much. Too many.

What would Severus say if he could see this tragedy enfolding before his own eyes? How utterly disappointed and heartbroken he would be. All his life's work was cemented and destroyed when Hermione Granger—a pure heart amongst the darkness—had sacrificed herself. So simple yet so complicated. He couldn't have foreseen it. It was not supposed to happen. But it did.

One sacrifice too many, it overwhelmed the delicately balanced scales and left the world in shambles.

Albus Dumbledore cried bitter, silent tears, his old heart breaking into million useless pieces.

He was so_ sorry_.

xxx

Expression of true sadness and pain was stretched across the Headmaster's face as he looked away from Harry and towards the ground. Dumbledore couldn't look him in the eyes.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Hermione suddenly collapse to the floor, eyes wide with true fear and lips trembling.

For a second, Harry thought he went really mad; he was insane. It could not be what he was thinking. It was not possible.

But the defeated blue eyes were not trained on him. They were watching her.

_Hermione._

Before Harry could scream in rage so terrifying, so pure and unrestrained, the platform exploded.

A dark, suffocating aura bombarded the King's Cross station, making Harry shudder and Hermione gasp in shock.

For she could feel _something _stir, eager in anticipation and joy_ inside of her._

The Dark Lord had arrived.

_xxx_

_I don't why but FF keeps removing the line breaks..annoying_

_Anyway, next chapters should be longer. I'm not a fan of short chapters myself, but..._

_ Thank you for all the reviews, alerts and favorites!_


	3. Understanding

_AN at the end of the chapter_

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

**I, Horcrux **

Chapter Three

Disbelieving red eyes watched as Harry Potter was pushed aside from the path of his Killing Curse.

_This is not happening. Not again!_

But then, he could see Potter stumble and push_ back_.

There was something _really_ wrong with Gryffindors and their maniac need for jumping in front of his curses.

He_ felt _the curse linger and then push back at him. Again. Lord Voldemort vowed he'd take a much closer look to the usage of the Avada Kedavra curse—that was if he survived.

The illuminating green light sped towards him and then …

He could feel it. Not the curse but something go off in his brain, like a dam broke and the water mass dashed forward, filling his mind. Only, it wasn't water. Lord Voldemort could see and feel memories that _definitely_ weren't his own.

And then everything went black.

xxx

With fear gripping his throat, Lord Voldemort quickly got up—_he would not be sitting on the ground like some graceless muggle_—and looked around.

He wasn't dead as he could feel something tugging him back—_Nagini_—anchoring his soul to the world of the living.

With that thought, Voldemort was able to push the fear and terror behind his Occlumency walls and take a deep breath.

_What happened? And what was this thing doing inside his head?_

Tentatively, he reached towards the link that was now connecting his mind to the newly acquired memories and pulled.

Time froze as he watched a young child beg her parents for a new book; watched said girl now older jumping around her home clutching a Hogwarts acceptance letter to her chest; and the Sorting Hat yelling Gryffindor—_but of course, what other house could it be? Sacrifices and all._

He was watching her every move, feeling her every emotion, and only as her name was called forward during the Sorting Feast did he understand just whose memories he now had full access to.

Hermione Granger.

_Potter's Mudblood._

Voldemort was about to withdraw when something stopped him. _Something_ was now pulling him deeper, bringing up memories that were of an older person.

_Something_ was making him watch, desperately holding him tight, not letting him retreat to his own mind. As if afraid that he would leave without seeing what this _something_ needed him to see.

Voldemort would have tried to struggle even if the magic pulling him in wasn't hostile in the least—quite opposite actually, eerie _familiar_—but then suddenly, before he could even try, new images were brought before his eyes.

In increasing disbelief and horror, he watched the Mudblood destroy his Horcrux . _His Cup!_

It seemed like the hold on him tightened and this _something—he'd identify it later—_was now pushing thoughts and images as quickly as it could towards him. Desperate.

And then he saw it.

_No…_

Dumbfounded and disbelieving, in a stupor-like trance, Voldemort saw it all.

Genuine fear, cold like nothing he had felt before, gripped his heart and squeezed.

With almost all his Horcruxes destroyed, with genuine Deathly Hallows scattered around Hogwarts' perimeter and the realization that Potter, Harry-fucking-Potter was his Horcrux … Voldemort needed to sit for he was sure his legs would give up now.

How could he have been such a blind _fool_?

Everything, absolutely everything was right in front of his own eyes. All this time his own Horcrux—_his own soul, dammit_—was inside of Potter and he _hadn't known_.

And then realization—so powerful and so sickening that Voldemort just had to sit down on the white marble floor—hit him.

Hadn't it been for the Mudblood, he would have been destroyed.

His soul was trembling with sick panic as he pieced everything he had seen in the Mudblood's mind together.

A malfunctioning Elder wand, his unknown Horcrux in Potter, the Resurrection stone—the same stone he had turned into a Horcrux without even considering the possibility that it was one of Deathly Hallows!—Potter's Invisibility Cloak—another Hallow, the prophecy…

_How the mighty have fallen._

There had always been only one person he had complete trust in—himself.

What was there to say about the world, if he, Lord Voldemort, had managed to make so many foolish mistakes? Mistakes, he could now see, that could have been easily avoided if only he had stopped and looked closer.

Did the breaking of his soul really have such damaging consequences on his sanity and his brilliant mind—his greatest treasure besides his magic—or he simply had lost his touch?

But no matter, no matter.

He was going to fix all this mess he had created.

And it was all thanks to the Mudblood.

How ironic.

Voldemort stood up from the ground_—he'd take a much closer look at every little detail later, for now was not the time to brood_. Having full grasp on his raging emotions helped to clear this turbulent mind.

He could sense something calling him, something urging him forward. Something so familiar …

_His magic. _

A second later, the air was filled with most chilling, victorious laughter that boomed around the now shaking form of the Dark Lord, who had his head thrown back and arms spread wide, red eyes closed.

A genuine smile appeared on the Dark Lord's face as he finally calmed down.

For he understood what this _something_ was.

It was time.

xxx

Hermione felt like she was sitting on a rollercoaster in Disneyland—a memory of a long ago when she was just a child—a rollercoaster that was about to plunge down without any restrain.

This time, however, there was no safety belt around her torso.

Not that it would have helped.

A force so powerful, so intoxicating, so evil was now quickly approaching and the only thing she could do was watch with tunnel-vision, as if sucked into a tube, the form of the Dark Lord materialize on the destructed platform.

There was only one person possessing such horrendous magic, and he was now here.

"Well, well, well," a cold, serpentine voice exhaled, "what do we have here?"

xxx

Lethally deranged, but at the same time unbelievingly lucid, red eyes danced from the crouching form of Dumbledore—_but of course, who else but the meddling old fool_—to the terrified green eyes of his biggest mistake—_Potter_—and then they landed on her.

Voldemort could see his shard pulsate in anticipation inside the girl's mind. Just for a second, he allowed himself the pleasure of just watching a part of his soul shimmer and blaze, interflowing with the girl's magical core.

_Fascinating._

But it could wait. There were matters at hand much more pressing and later, after dealing with this mess, he would take the girl's mind apart piece by piece, not allowing any small detail to pass him.

No more mistakes.

xxx

"Tom," Dumbledore greeted his former student, suddenly feeling old and powerless when red eyes met his in a silent duel. Maybe not everything was lost…

Just _maybe_...

"Dumbledore," a whispered hiss that contained just the right amount of leniency, dark amusement, and contempt.

Bright red eyes with snake-like pupils roamed over the now flickering form of the Headmaster.

"You look good—" Voldemort's eyes actually twinkled. "—dead."

"What are you doing here?" Harry's scream came out more like a bark, his voice raw with hatred and pain. "Why don't you just fucking _die_?!"

"One shouldn't be rude, Harry," Voldemort admonished with a tilt of his head. "I could ask you the same question, Harry. Why do you still live?"

Before Harry Potter had any chance to open his mouth, an impatient hand made a halting gesture.

"It was a rhetorical question, Harry, no need to overwork yourself." His tone mocking, Voldemort let his eyes wander from Potter's outrageous expression to the still form of Dumbledore. "I simply could not resist the temptation of seeing your merry band of self-sacrificing fools gathered together in this most pleasurable environment—" His voice gained a dangerous, hissing undertone, once his gaze was directed at Dumbledore. "—for the last time."

"I must admit I find myself at loss at—" Dumbledore took a step forward, his hands clasped together in front of his robes. "—how is it exactly that you are here?"

_When you shouldn't be_, was left unsaid but apprehended by everyone present.

"Surprised? You _should_ be." Voldemort tsked and slowly nodded his head a few times, as if pondering. "I know_ I_ was. And you do know _how _I despise surprises, old man, don't you?"

_Tom is too calm, too composed for someone who was hit back by a once again reflected Killing Curse_, Dumbledore thought gravely. Either Tom was too far gone to understand everything that had transpired, or …

The smile he received in return cemented his doubts, propelling panic and guilt to new levels.

_Just how much did he understand?_

xxx

Hermione Granger, for the first time in her life, was so horrified that she had remained silent.

It wasn't the horror of seeing an active Dark Lord with her own eyes for the first time, nor did it have anything to do with their current predicament.

Hermione Granger stayed silent since the arrival of Voldemort and throughout the conversation because she was busy dealing with emotions inside of her own mind. Emotions that she sure as hell wasn't experiencing _herself._

Hate.

Rage.

_Glee._

For a second, Hermione wished to believe those were her emotions, as they would have fit the situation—except the last. But with startling clarity, Hermione had to acknowledge that those were not _her_ emotions that were flowing over her like a roaring waterfall.

Those were _His._

_No, no, no … Anything but this, please_, Hermione prayed, sick to the core with realization as to _why_ she could feel the Dark Lord's current emotions.

_It isn't real._

This monster, this creature, this …

"Now, now, Miss Granger—"

Suddenly she felt as if she was under a microscope—like a small, twitching bug—for those red unforgiving eyes were now piercing through her, pinning her to the ground.

"—what did I say about being rude?"

_But … she didn't say anything!  
><em>

**"_Be quiet, little girl."_**

She wanted to yell "I'm not a little girl!" but she noticed the Headmaster's uneasiness and Harry's unmistakable shudder at Voldemort's words.

All-out comprehension came so suddenly that Hermione thought her heart stopped beating for a second.

_Parseltongue._

And _she_ could understand it.

_The Horcrux is in me, _she finally admitted to herself.

She could feel his eyes—so inhumanly red eyes—watch her intently.

_Red eyes are not normal_.

"_**Normal is overrated, Miss Granger." **_His usually cold voice sounded a bit different, more sibilant, and with a light note of _amusement_.

_Did … did he just crack a joke?!_

Thin, pale lips stretched into a sly smirk and Hermione screamed.

xxx

Distant but sharp ringing could be heard from somewhere far away, yet its intensity made everyone present aware that the time here was coming to an end.

Sand started seeping through the walls and the roof; the white marble tiles on the floor were now laced with scattered, uneven, ragged cracks; and the fog was getting thicker.

"You have lost, you senile old fool. You should have kept your endless meddling to yourself." Voldemort now took a fluent but challenging step forward, looking directly into Albus Dumbledore's eyes. "But no, you really had the audacity to stick your long nose into _my_ business, didn't you?"

The walls were now crumbling and the ringing became more urgent.

"I want you to know that I am truly sorry for one thing only, Albus."

Suddenly, Voldemort appeared near Hermione and grabbed her hand, pulling her up. The cold fingers circled around her wrist like a serpent—cold and extremely tight. She couldn't move and it was becoming difficult to breathe because the Dark Lord's aura was suffocating her from the outside and his Horcrux's maddening thrashing from the inside. She was ready to pass out.

He was so close that Hermione could feel the silky, shimmering material of his majestic robe pool over her fingers ; Voldemort was now standing behind her, his hold not lessening in the least.

Harry tried to move, to leap at this disgusting, demonic creature that was now holding Hermione by her wrist from behind , but a firm hand on his shoulder—even though flickering—managed to hold him away. The old Headmaster seemed abnormally serene now.

"And what would that be, Tom?" Albus asked in genuine interest, still not letting go of Harry and making him stay put.

The platform was now almost fully destroyed, only seconds were left, the ringing in the distance disappearing.

"My _only_ regret is that I wasn't present to see your stupid face when you realized just how badly you managed to _fuck it all up_," Voldemort uncharacteristically barked in Dumbledore's face, his inhuman features morphing into a twisted smile full of pointed teeth, making him look more a creature than a man.

Hermione tried to move away, again, only for the grip to become inhumanly strong, almost bone-crushing. Had they been, well, alive, she was sure her wrist would have snapped already.

"Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore."

Harry finally managed to free himself and, with a maddening scream, leaped towards Voldemort and Hermione only to disappear into thin air. A bell suddenly rang and everything started to shake uncontrollably, columns falling and smashing into the smallest pieces of shimmering crystals before turning to ash.

Hermione's eyes met the teary, defeated gaze of the Headmaster who stood behind a destroyed column, pain and guilt twisting his old face. Her own freely cascading tears were blinding, emotions not letting her breathe properly, but she managed to hear a whisper of sincere "I am so sorry" before everything went black.

xxx

If the way "up " or wherever they had been transported to, had been incredibly fast and painless, then her way "back" wasn't anywhere close. Pain, impossible pain seared through her body as she felt a cold, damp ground beneath her cheek and hands.

Hermione tried to curl herself into a fetus position to somehow lessen the pain—_even worse than from Bellatrix's Cruciatus!_—but she could barely move her fingertips.

She was aware of the uproar around her; loud, agitated voices were coming closer and closer through the thick fog that Hermione couldn't clear her mind from.

Through the fog, Hermione heard the now familiar, cold voice shout, _"Expelliarmus!"_and not a second later, the same voice_—"Accio Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak!"_

She could feel bile rising in her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. She gasped for air.

Hermione could hear calm, unrushed footsteps approach her—everything around her was now eerily quiet.

_How did she miss that?_

Suddenly, she was pulled up from her comfortable position on the muggy forest soil by a pair of thin but strong arms. The last thing she saw before everything went black was a pair of astute, contemplative red eyes.

"_**Sleep, little girl." **_

A whispered hiss and Hermione knew no more.

xxx

_AN: Well, here is chapter three. I try to keep everyone as much in character as possible. Hardest was Voldemort, but he's a genius Dark Lord and I am not ;)_

_Thank you for your reviews, alerts and favorites. They all are greatly appreciated._

_Next chapter should be up soon. Waves!_


	4. Blood-red eyes

_Well, here is a new chapter. Am I fast, or what? ;)  
><em>

_Constructive criticism is appreciated, childish antics not. _

_Thank you for all the alerts, favorites and reviews!_

_Next chapter should be up soon...  
><em>

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**I, Horcrux**

Chapter Four

The clouds were covering the moon; sparse rays of illumination not intense enough to reach the ground lingered somewhere in between.

It was a dark, cold night.

A gust of wind picked up a hem of the flapping, lightly shimmering robe and swirled it in the air before quietly disappearing into the night.

A lone figure stood near the edge of a cliff, the sharp bevel rising from deep, dark waters like an obelisk.

He had so much to think over the last two days, so much…

His gaze was pensive and slightly unfocused as he watched unruly waves crash into each other before flowing over the rocks; his lips tightly pursed as he quietly observed foam appear and then disappear again when a new wave swooped it up.

It was a long shot, but well worth it in the end. If everything went accordingly to his brilliant plan, then …

He was going to show them all just how_ brilliant_ he really was.

Now, having already won the battle, he could allow himself a small enterprise, an experiment of sort.

He had always been a curious person, after all. It didn't matter if Dark or Light, knowledge was knowledge.

And knowledge was power.

The only thing that had been bothering him about his plan was the idea that he had to rely on the Mudblood's endurance. It would be a pity if she broke too soon.

He had seen and done things that not many of the living could relate to. He was above them all.

He should simply kill her and be done with it. One horcrux less was not going to change anything, but the satisfaction of seeing them on their knees before him not because he ordered, but because they wanted to …

And he _was_ curious.

_He will give her a chance._

Slowly and almost lazily—_he was many things but never lazy_—Lord Voldemort took a step forward. The curved embellishment on the handle of the yew wand curled around his finger, preventing it from falling to the ground and allowing it to hang loosely from his hand—_it fitted perfectly_. Flexing his magic, he slowly floated into the air, rising higher and higher. His cloak billowed in the wind, surrounding him like a dark mist.

Then, his whole frame became a cloud and he soared into the air.

It was time to visit his guests.

_xxx_

Hermione cracked one eye open. Her head was staggeringly empty; no thoughts or emotions disturbed her while she had slept.

_It feels as if I have slept for eternity_, Hermione thought absentmindedly while trying to open both her eyes, which proved to be difficult, since she felt as if her eyelids had been glued together.

She could feel cool, soft material under her fingertips, and with a startling realization, Hermione jumped up.

Frantically looking around, Hermione found herself in a well-furnished, spacious room, with large balcony doors that would have bathed the whole place with warm sunrays had it been daytime.

But it was dark outside.

Where am I? What time is it? Where is Harry? And where is …

_He …_

Hermione remembered those demonic red eyes that had looked directly into her soul before she blacked out.

_He must have cast some sort of a Sleeping Spell_, Hermione thought with unease. A Sleeping Spell was not something she had expected from the Dark Lord—but then again, she was his Horcrux now.

Freezing on the spot, Hermione tried to push her rising panic aside—_she needed her head clear!—_but found herself unable to escape the sudden bombardment of her own thoughts.

Quickly locating what she believed was a bathroom, Hermione ran towards it, her legs unsteady and her stomach in her throat.

Grey marble tiles, a huge bathtub, and an amazingly enormous mirror were ignored in favor of emptying her stomach into the toilet. She had nothing to vomit with, as she could not recall when she had last eaten, but those sore, brutal coughs were making her gag uncontrollably.

_I am a Horcrux. I am Lord Voldemort's horcrux. I am a Horcrux. I am-_

Her gagging and pitiful internal wailing were getting stronger with each passing thought, each more depressing than the last.

_Where is Harry? How did Voldemort find out about the Hallows? Where am I? What is going to happen to me now? Where is Harry?!_

_Why am I in a room, alone, and not in dungeons, chained up to a wall?_

_What have I done?_

The last thought was so excruciatingly painful to comprehend that Hermione had no choice but to slam her head against the light grey toilet seat, hard and desperate. Her vision swam but except for the now raging headache, nothing changed. She still felt this suffocating guilt and denial wash over her and chain her to the ground; not even the pain was enough to cloud her inner horror.

Wiping her mouth with a sleeve of her pullover—_she was still dressed in her old clothes_—Hermione stood up on shaking legs and leaned over the sink, putting enough pressure on her hands for her knuckles to become white.

Slowly lifting her gaze, she looked at her reflection.

Hermione did not know what she had expected to see. _Red eyes? A lightning bolt scar?_

Looking back at her was the face of a young woman, with teary brown eyes filled with pain and a tormented expression.

Her lips twisted into a bitter grimace upon the realization that she did not look any different—hollower and paler—but it was still her face, her eyes, her tangled brown curly hair.

She looked horrible, but _normal_.

Tentatively, Hermione searched her mind for the parasite that had somehow leeched to her soul.

She felt its presence in the far corner of her mindscape; the shard radiated coldness and had the unmistakable aura that she could now freely associate with Voldemort.

However, Hermione could not feel anything—not even the slightest of emotions—reach her. It was as if she had no access to that part of her mind, as if it was separated.

Very slowly, she tried to reach the dark mist that was surrounding that entity—_it was her mind!—_only to have her body shudder in pain, as stinging, piercing pain suddenly raced through her veins.

Petrified, Hermione could now only watch—_feel_—a flickering barrier that she hadn't noticed before become more solid and dark. The presence intensified before slowly retreating behind the barrier, cutting her completely out.

A few minutes passed and Hermione still kept staring into the mirror.

Her mind was in chaos and she did not know what to do.

Hermione watched her reflection lick her cracked lips, the tongue darting out before quickly retreating.

_Just like this __**thing**__._

Hermione managed to tear one shaking hand from the death grip she had on the sink and touch her face.

The war was now most likely lost, Harry dead, Ron in a coma—if not dead already—all because she had to interfere.

It was all her fault.

How could she have been so stupid?

And now she was playing a host to a part of Voldemort's soul.

Brown eyes glimmered with fierce determination when her fist smashed into the mirror, cracking it.

Trembling, but strong, her fingers picked up a fallen shard, jagged but sharp enough.

Swallowing her fear and terror, Hermione quietly ordered her hand not to shake.

It was so much easier to jump in front of the Killing Curse during a battle than to just take this shard and stick it into her throat. Alone, in an unknown place, it wasn't as easy as she had thought.

It was so hard to force her hands not to tremble, as Hermione finally gathered enough resolve to just finish it—_kill the Horcrux!—_and position the shard near her carotid artery.

_One strike should be enough_, Hermione thought while looking at her reflection—a reflection that was just as broken as the mirror in front of her.

She had to do this now, for Hermione was sure that her resolve to end her life—_just to kill the Horcrux_—would not hold long. She was many things, but never suicidal.

_Plus, I could be interrupted any moment,_ Hermione reasoned with herself. It was a real mystery to her as to why Voldemort would allow her to stay alone, unsupervised, like he didn't care for his own soul's well-being.

After a long second, Hermione whispered "I'm sorry" and finally brought her hand back to ensure enough force for the hit.

It was time. She was going to die and take this piece of shit with her.

She was Hermione Granger and her mind was made.

_xxx_

A deranged smile crossed her face when her hand started to move, the sharp piece of mirror tightly clasped in her palm, piercing the tender skin.

Hermione closed her eyes; she couldn't watch as she stabbed herself in the neck, but she was ready. To die.

Her hand continued its swift approach, the shard ready to penetrate and ...

Pain, impossibly sharp pain pierced through her body when the shard was thrusted into her left arm.

_What?!_

Before Hermione had any time to comprehend what was happening, the glass was pulled out of her arm and plunged into her right leg.

_Her body wasn't hers._

Crying out loud at the pain that was completely taking over her rational part of mind, Hermione felt the presence in her head slowly retreat back to the far corner that it had come from; she could feel it linger at the edge of the barrier before fully disappearing. An ominous whisper and its endless echo, repeating itself over and over was the only reminder that she wasn't alone.

"_Careful, Mudblood."_

_xxx_

Twenty minutes later, Hermione found herself sitting on the bed, her arm and leg bleeding, dripping bright red blood onto the sheets, soaking them with its intensity.

After the shock had passed, Hermione had been able to yank the shard out of her leg and limp into the room, dumping her heavy body onto the bed.

_She was so tired._

The fluffy light-pink carpet was now red, the blood stains trailing from the bathroom—where she had left an even bigger mess behind—and Hermione could care less. She'd trash the whole room if she had the power.

Just as Hermione was about to get up and inspect her wounds—_they were hurting like hell and they seemed to be ridiculously deep_—a small pop was heard from her left.

Hermione actually screamed when she saw big, bright eyes stare at her from the shadows.

But as her galloping heart calmed down, Hermione breathed out a laugh that many would have labeled as insane.

_Unless the Dark Lord suddenly became as tall as a dwarf, it could not be him watching her silently from the dark corner._

As the small figure made a tiny step forward, Hermione's suspicions were confirmed when she saw a house-elf twist a piece of a torn blanket in its bony hands.

_I scared him, _Hermione thought with a pang of guilt.

_Is there anything I could do right?_

Hermione was interrupted from her internal blaming marathon by a small, quivering voice.

"Master said to clean you up._"_

Astonished, Hermione watched the small house-elf approach the built-in wardrobe and retrieve a handful of clothes.

"What is your name?" Hermione asked quietly, not wanting to scare the small creature away.

"Master said to clean you up."

The elf seemed too scared to even open its mouth and Hermione did not need to ask which master it was referring to.

She had seen only one wizard produce such genuine fear in everyone around him_._

_Voldemort._

Hermione did not want to thinks about the implications that would surely befall on this small, innocent house-elf if it failed to do as instructed. Voldemort was merciless to even the best of wizards, so Hermione was sure as hell he wouldn't even pay attention to this creature as he killed it.

Nodding her head, Hermione watched the elf quickly and quietly clean up the room before casting some sorts of elfish cleaning and refreshing spells on her hair, face, and body.

The only thing the elf did not heal or even touch were the deep cuts on her left arm and right leg; the wounds were, however, sealed enough not to produce more blood.

_But they still hurt like hell._

_He knows … Voldemort knows what I have tried to do, _Hermione thought swallowing hard. He hadn't been in the room but he still knew that she had tried to end her life. _And his_.

Without any further notice, her clothes vanished. Hermione quickly brought her hands up to cover her naked breasts when she noticed the elf freeze.

The elf's hand started to tremble as it passed her new clothes, its eyes never leaving her hand-covered breasts.

She had never heard of elves sexually harassing witches or wizards, so the thought of a peek-show left her mind as quickly as it had entered.

It was, however, replaced with curiosity and uneasiness. She couldn't feel anything abnormal there.

_What was he staring at?_

Slowly and carefully, Hermione lowered her hands and looked at her naked chest.

The elf actually flinched, but she paid it no mind. Her astonished gaze was directed at the symbol she could now clearly see.

There, in the cavity between her breasts was a red, angry looking circle, not bigger than a galleon in its periphery. There was a strange sign inside the circle, something that looked like an overturned checkmark.

And Hermione had actually been worried to see a lightning bolt back in the bathroom.

Quickly getting up, Hermione rushed to the now restored mirror, needing to see the mark fully and at the correct angle.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, almost tracing the mark with her fingertips, Hermione could clearly see it in the reflection. And it was horrible.

_The circle was not so bad_, Hermione reckoned, _but the check mark_… She honestly doubted that the Dark Lord had drawn it himself—she couldn't imagine him painting lines on her body in the middle of her deep slumber, crouching near her with a wand or a dagger in his hand—so it meant that the mark was from the Killing Curse.

Still bothered by the mere thought that Voldemort might had touched her _there_, Hermione pursed her lips in resentment and disgust.

He was so incredibly evil, so horrible in the inside that it was only fitting that his appearance wasn't any better.

She glanced down one more time, her fingers actually touching the mark—_it tingled!—_before returning her gaze back to her image. Her body froze as her eyes connected with his in the reflection.

Blood red eyes with snake-like pupils were watching her silently yet intently.

She couldn't breathe.

He was now standing behind her and she hadn't even noticed.

"Fascinating, isn't it, Miss Granger?"

_xxx_

Harry Potter was sitting on a dark, cold floor with his hands crossed at his ankles and his head leaning against the damp stone walls.

He was once again in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, only this time, there were no Ron or Hermione with him.

This time, there was no Wormtail or any other Death Eater guarding his cell.

This time, there was a thin barrier between him and the way out, separating him from the world of the living, but allowing him a glimpse of his only company—a dark cloaked figure floating in the air, just behind the thin line.

He was alone with his darkest thoughts swirling around in his mind and a Dementor as his company.

This time, it was for real.

_xxx_

_Would you look at that, everyone's alive! :) _

_Please let me know what you think. Waves!_


	5. First Lessons

_Here is a new chapter. Fast, no? _

_Thank you all for your reviews, alert and favorites._

_**I'll be changing the story rating from T to M…**_

_This is the first part of the chapter. The second part should be up soon._

_Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated._

_Hope you enjoy it!_

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

**I, Horcrux**

Chapter Five

She looked so brave and valiant with those smart brown eyes of hers.

On one hand, he was pleasantly astonished.

On the other … he was angry.

He had seen every single memory that little girl had; he had felt every single emotion she had felt; her whole personality was packed and delivered to him in a form of a small ball of energy that was now kept in the depths of his mind. And even though he really could not name even one of his real adversaries who was still alive, he still continued maintaining his ridiculously strong Occlumency walls. He was being cautious.

The whole almost-fiasco with the old codger had been a wake-up call. He had dabbled in Arts so dark that even _his_ mind was affected. Not that he was insane.

The old fool—oh, how he _hated_ Dumbledore—expatiated left and right to anyone who would listen that _he _were insane. That _he, Lord Voldemort_, was crazy.

The nerve …

As if splitting one's soul could have any impact on one's rational mind_. _

_Pathetic._ Who cared about soul's next great adventure if one could live forever?

_Dumbledore, apparently, _as Voldemort really could not come up with another reason as to why Dumbledore hadn't made a Horcrux. Just to gain time, for example. Dumbledore could have prolonged his existence marginally, if only he had created one tiny Horcrux. If the old fool was so dead-bent on his mission to destroy him, then why did he leave everything at the hands of three children and one two-faced traitor? Severus should be grateful that he had already killed him. Had Severus been alive …

Traitors aside, those three children were left—_alone_—to deal with Dumbledore's perfectly planned quest.

Voldemort believed if he wanted something done right, he had to do it himself. And how right he was—look where Dumbledore's faith in others brought him.

Not that Voldemort complained.

And those children had almost succeeded, had it not been for the same good fortune—just on _his_ side now.

Had it not been for the girl …

The Mudblood whose memories he absorbed, the little Mudblood that he had kept alive just because he saw promise in her. He was very curious.

The very same girl that was now standing in front of the mirror, frozen to the spot, staring at him in their reflections. He wondered how long she'd be able to hold his gaze without the mirror acting as a medium. He'd find out soon.

The Mudblood seemed to come out of her stupor, as her hands shot up and her small palms quickly covered her breasts.

Silly, little girl. So innocent, so naïve…

He would have killed her. He honestly would have killed her now, had it not been for her whole personality which image was now stored deep in his mind. He had extracted it while she slept, pulled it in by the thin cord that connected their minds; he took it all. And he saw promise in her.

She was standing here now, before his eyes, covering her small breasts and thinking that he might force her …

He almost laughed out loud. How utterly ridiculous.

Such a little, naïve girl…

xxx

"_**Miss Granger, I assure you, your chastity is safe with me,"**_ Voldemort whispered quietly into Hermione's ear.

She flinched at the use of Parseltongue and the close proximity, and she shuddered internally at the offhand reminder that her thoughts were not as private as she would have liked.

"_**Stay out of my head,"**_ she managed to whisper back, not comprehending the unintentional use of the language of snakes. Only after finishing the sentence did Hermione notice the underlying hissing quality her voice had gained as well and the way her lips barely moved while talking.

Voldemort's amused hiss made her shiver harder.

"I suggest you get dressed, Miss Granger. We don't want you to endanger your health, do we?" The Dark Lord's mocking smirk made Hermione turn around and look him in the face. She had to tilt her head back because the difference in heights was bigger than she had initially expected.

"Why are you doing this?!" Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor for a reason.

"Miss Granger, it would do you well to remember that I do not have a habit of repeating myself." Voldemort's red eyes were now staring directly into hers and Hermione saw a promise of pain in them.

He then tilted his head to the right and looked at her through squinted eyes.

"However, considering the recent—" Here, he paused and clicked his tongue. "—events, I will allow you some lenience," Voldemort continued without paying attention to Hermione's widened, surprised eyes.

Before she had a chance to say a word, Voldemort continued, his tone now had a dangerously warning note. "Within boundaries and _only _today."

Then, the Dark Lord turned around and went to leave the bathroom. He stopped on the threshold and beckoned Hermione with a fluent hand movement.

"Come, Miss Granger, we have a lot to talk about and not much time. Get dressed and join me in the room." And with that, he left.

_xxx_

It was hard to gather her courage and step out of the bathroom, but she wanted answers, and she needed to know what had happened while she was asleep. Hermione was afraid of what she might hear, but she had to. And she could not and would not be hiding in the toilet like some spineless coward.

_Better get it done and over with._

_xxx_

The Dark Lord was sitting in a comfortable chair near the now lit fireplace, leaning back and placing his arms on each armrest.

He was very calm and even relaxed, Hermione noticed when she came closer. His posture was very elegant but deadly, like a snake relaxing in the sun before effortlessly attacking its unsuspecting prey.

She didn't know what she was supposed to do.

"Take a seat, Miss Granger." A polite offer if one ignored the tone that left no room for argument.

Hermione lowered herself tentatively into the chair opposite of Voldemort.

She had so many questions, but Hermione thought that voicing them would result in some long and painful torture. She knew nothing about the man and it was making her uncomfortable. So far, he had acted completely opposite to what she had expected.

Feeling those chilling eyes on her, Hermione licked her lips and composed herself.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Granger?"

_Was he serious?_

If he had heard her thoughts, he didn't show it.

"Dinner, perhaps?" He was mocking her, she had no doubt.

An impatient sigh escaped Lord Voldemort as he observed her with a pensive expression on his face.

_If one can call it a face,_ Hermione thought in disgust as she looked over his pale, almost white visage with no nose and fierce, burning red eyes that had lost their previous amusement.

_Oh … crap!_

"I don't care how much you hate me, Miss Granger. Nor do I care how you see me," Voldemort started slowly, his voice chilly and indifferent. "But you will respect me, little girl. Make no mistake."

"I'm not a little girl!" Hermione spat before she could control herself.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Slowly, Lord Voldemort rose and took a step forward. Now, he was standing directly in front of her and Hermione braced herself.

She had expected a Cruciatus maybe, or some other sort of punishment, for Voldemort was anything but forgiving, so she was surprised greatly when his cold index and middle fingers pushed her chin upwards, tilting her head back and meeting her gaze.

"I think we started on the wrong page, Miss Granger," Voldemort whispered after watching her face for a few seconds. "I believe that proper introductions are in order. For I simply cannot fathom as to why you would try to purposely anger a Dark Lord."

He talked quietly, his words a mere whisper, but it made Hermione's attention peak up even more. His previously missing aura was now back and Hermione shivered while being in such a close proximity.

Luckily, that blasted Horcrux had kept quiet and Hermione didn't have to suffer from its onslaught like she did back then, at the dream station. Hermione still didn't know where they had been and now was not the time to think about it.

She had a Dark Lord to deal with.

"I am well aware of who you are, thank you," Hermione answered politely but with a spike of venom in her voice.

He must have caught it as well, as his fingers were now bruising her jaw, their hold strong and painfully tight.

"I am afraid here lies the problem, Miss Granger." Voldemort tilted her head to the right with his fingers and then to the left, as if examining her. Letting go of her chin, he moved towards the fireplace with his back facing her.

"You. Know. _Nothing_," he pronounced each word slowly and clearly, as if he was talking to a retarded, slow on the uptake child.

Hermione had heard Professor Snape use such tone quite often, but luckily, never on her.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Hermione was used to being treated as a smart individual, in the Muggle and Wizarding world alike. "The brightest witch of their age" was her most treasured praise.

She certainly didn't appreciate being treated as a dimwit.

"Where is Harry?" Hermione demanded through clenched teeth, trying her best not to lose her temper.

She could survive one torture curse and it looked like Voldemort wasn't planning on killing her, at least not yet. She wanted answers.

Voldemort rocked on his heels for a second before turning around. He looked at her with a strange expression and Hermione wished she could feel his emotions now, as it would help her understand how to behave.

"Put your cloak on, "Voldemort simply told her while he wandlessly levitated her new robe to the chair she was still sitting on.

"Why?"

Hermione's breath hitched as she saw his eyes blaze with barely restrained inner rage.

Quietly, she put the cloak on—_No need to infuriate him further—_and stood awkwardly near the chair she had occupied earlier.

"I feel that _somehow _you managed to get a wrong picture of this situation and I find myself indebted—" He paused before moving closer to her. "—to correct your false notion that you know who you are talking to."

Hermione's face must have shown her disbelief at his words as Voldemort swiftly grabbed her hand and Apparated them away.

Xxx

Hermione was always wary of Apparition, especially Side-along Apparition, as it had always been slightly unpleasant. It had always felt like she had been sucked into a tight tube before traveling at an enormous speed, only to be spat out with an upset stomach.

This time, however, it had been different. She felt Voldemort's magic stretch around them and then she was _flowing._ She had no time to explore the feeling closer as the next second she found herself standing on firm ground. She had to admit that this had been her most pleasant Apparating experience, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth knowing who was responsible for it.

Voldemort was standing near Hermione and she had to admit he looked as powerful as she would imagine a Dark Lord to be. Evilness aside, he was a wizard of great power, Hermione had to concede internally. Not that she would say something like this to his face. It was hard enough to control herself when his eyes were constantly studying her like a bug under a microscope.

Speaking of those eyes …

With a mixture of contempt and uneasiness on her face, Hermione watched him observe her, his now dark red eyes glinting in the moonlight, making them look even more inhuman that before.

Suddenly, he waved his hand and Hermione saw the barrier around them disappear. She hadn't even noticed it before!

With astonished eyes, Hermione looked around, wanting to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

They were standing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus and Hermione just could not understand what Voldemort—who hated Muggles and everything related to them—had forgotten here, in the middle of Muggle London.

The place was crowded, like every other evening and Hermione had an insane—but so hilarious—thought that maybe Voldemort messed up with coordinates. If he wanted the first impression of who he was to be like this, who was Hermione to argue?

Her internal sniggering was brought to a brutal halt as her neck was captured in an iron grip and she was forced to look Voldemort directly in the face.

"You should thank your lucky stars that I promised myself to be lenient with you this evening. Not only are you a rude, little Mudblood, but you also have no sense of self-preservation. Today, I hope you will learn your lesson. If not, I will be repeating this lesson over and over again until you finally get it through your thick head that I am not your friend, nor I am like anyone you have ever known," Voldemort whispered ominously, his hand still clasping her neck, not letting go even a bit.

Hermione was too petrified to come back with a witty remark—or any response at that matter—as she could see that he was not joking. All his previous humor was now completely gone.

She was now genuinely afraid.

"I would hope, for your sake, that you learn quickly. However, if you ever need a repeated performance, I will be happy to assist you, Miss Granger."

With that, he took a step back and Hermione saw his bone-white wand slip into his hand.

"What do you see, Miss Granger?" Voldemort asked while expertly twirling his wand with one finger on the handle.

_How does he do it? _Hermione was too curious for her own good and she knew it.

"Answer me!" he suddenly barked.

Suppressing a violent shudder that wanted to escape at his tone, Hermione looked around one more time before relying.

"I see people. We are in Piccadilly Circus."

The Dark Lord actually smiled.

"And here our first lesson for today begins, Miss Granger."

He then moved closer to her again and roughly grabbed her by her arm. With his other hand, he clasped his wand tighter.

Hermione started to panic.

_Was he going to torture her here, in between the mob of Muggles?_ His close presence did not alleviate her unease at all.

"When we go back, I expect your behavior to be appropriate," he whispered menacingly into her ear.

"_This_—_"_ He motioned to the crowds. "—is your first lesson."

Hermione remained silent, a feeling of sick anticipation crawling into her heart.

"I am the Dark Lord, little child," Voldemort started his quiet, disturbingly gentle speech, "and a Dark Lord is not a wizard you'd want to cross. I do not joke around, nor do I make mistakes while Apparating." His voice was so hissing that Hermione wasn't sure if she was hearing Parseltongue or English. Not that she cared much, as her insides were frozen—she had stepped over a line and she knew it. Now, she was waiting for her punishment.

_But why here?_

Suddenly, the barrier inside her head disappeared, and Hermione almost drowned in the whirlpool of Voldemort's emotions.

Anger.

Excitement.

And … twisted intentions.

With horrified eyes, she saw Voldemort point his wand at the crowds, while still holding her arm in a death grip.

_No …_

"Watch closely, little girl."

Hermione was sure her heart would jump out of her ribcage; it was beating so fast and so hard.

What kind of Dark Magic was he going to use on the crowd? What kinds of forbidden spells?

"You don't have to do it," Hermione said breathlessly, knowing that every second mattered, "I understand."

"No, I don't have to," Voldemort said quietly, almost pensively.

Hermione's lungs opened, welcoming the much needed air, as she inhaled sharply. Maybe she could talk him out of it before-

"_**But I want to."**_

"_Bombarda!"_

And then there were screams.

_xxx_

He had forced her to watch.

Those couple of minutes lasted for an eternity; the only thing holding her up and standing was his death grip on her arm.

She watched the blast—much stronger than she had ever imagined the Bombarda spell could be—hit the crowd.

Hermione didn't know what she had expected from Voldemort, but not this.

He had blasted away a crowd of no less than fifty people with even more injured, all of them scattered around. _Horrified._

And he had used a normal blasting spell, the same she had used in her third year!

_He had chosen this spell on purpose._

As she watched the blood bath around her, the only thought that hadn't abandoned her tormented mind was once again: _It is my fault._

Was she damned?

They were still separated from the Muggles by the flickering barrier, but she could hear the screams so well that she thought her ears would start to bleed too.

"You see, my little Horcrux, it doesn't matter if the spell is Dark or Light. It is all about intention and the power," Voldemort continued his lecturing, his ears deaf to the pained screams of the innocent people he had just blown up.

Through their link, she could feel his satisfaction and twisted amusement. It seemed that killing people brought his previously _playful_ mood back.

"Stop, _please_, just stop!" Hermione managed to finally make her lips cooperate.

She couldn't watch it anymore. She wanted to leave.

"Are you willing to talk like a civilized adult now, little girl? Or, perhaps, you wish for me to continue?"

Nodding her head so hard that her vision started to swim, Hermione desperately looked into cruel, satisfied red eyes.

"Should I take it as your wish to continue, then?" Voldemort tilted his head to the side and was now openly mocking her.

And there was nothing she could do.

"I understand_,_" Hermione managed to choke out.

The silence between them became unbearable and Hermione finally understood why he wasn't accepting her answer.

"Sir." It hurt her so much to say it, but there were things far worse than her abused pride.

"Bravo, Miss Granger. All it took for you to address me properly was a small, little spell. " His cold voice was dripping with sarcasm as he looked her over with a pleased expression in those bright, red eyes.

_And plenty of innocent people—dead_, Hermione thought in despair.

"Don't mind them, little girl. They're just Muggles. You don't think about what maggots feel when you chop them up for your Potions assignment, do you? Or you_ do_?"

Hermione tasted blood as she bit her tongue.

_Too much blood on her hands already._

_I understand, Sir._

Just as quickly as it had disappeared, the mental barrier was back in place, and Hermione felt a now familiar flowing experience.

He was Apparating them back.

xxx

_AN/ It's fun writing Voldemort ;) I still hope to keep all characters IN character. Hope you liked it.  
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	6. Amortentia

_AN/ Yes, I'm updating fast._ _This story has been in my head for so long..._

_This chapter is also slow, but I feel that I need to show you, dear readers, how Hermione sees Voldemort. And what Voldemort thinks of Hermione. I will speed things up after the next chapter._

_Thank you for the feedback! _

_ Elisa (Guest): Thank you! Yes, that's Lord Voldemort ;) Regarding Hermione begging on her knees..I plan this long story to be long and I found it too early for Hermione to beg on her knees ( If ever, that is)...Hermione is hard to break ;) Hope you like this one too, it's mostly from Voldemort's POV ;)_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, your comments and constructive criticism are highly appreciated._

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**I, Horcrux**

Chapter Six

The girl looked ready to collapse.

Her turbulent emotions were banging on his Occlumency shields like a hoard of enraged bulls, and it took every ounce of his self-control just not to kill her. Here and now. And his grandeur plans be damned.

It was so sickening; it was so utterly disgusting. A maelstrom of such raw, _pathetic _emotions was raging in the girl's mind that Voldemort had to actually enforce his own metal shields to their most secure position. Not that they were flimsy before …

While it was amusing to watch the Mudblood drown in her own despair, he needed her head clear and well-organized if he wanted to be quick with her and _finally_, move on with his research on the Deathly Hallows and the predicament with his now-gone Horcruxes.

He needed the girl out of his hair—_figuratively speaking, as he now had none left_—and it didn't even bother him. He liked how he looked. _Different._

Mudblood aside, Nagini was now his only Horcrux. And he did not like it.

Voldemort had now two parts of his soul placed in two living creatures. While Nagini was his familiar and he had no doubt in her loyalty, Nagini was a snake. He was fine with it when he created this particular Horcrux, as he had many others hidden safely—_or so he thought_—back then.

Now, however, Lord Voldemort had only one other Horcrux.

_The same Horcrux that was now doing a fine job of ruining his good mood—as good as it could be, anyway. Had the girl really no sense self-preservation?_

It was, obviously, a rhetorical question and Lord Voldemort didn't deem it necessary to grace it with an answer.

It was interesting to watch her fall apart, piece by piece, slowly and irrevocably. He didn't want to rush things; he didn't want to accelerate her downfall. Voldemort did not want to break her beyond repair. He would just sit back and watch her do it herself. _His goldfish in a large, muddy aquarium_.

He really hoped she would not disappoint him.

The little Mudblood was now sitting quietly in the same chair she had occupied before their gloriously entertaining trip to Muggle London.

He could see her mind so clearly and it made him feel _pleased _that the girl was desperately trying to gather herself together and not show just _how_ affected she really was. She was brave and she was smart—_for a Mudblood_—even he could admit it—_if only to himself_—and he liked what he saw. She was capable of so much …

If everything went according to his plan …

He knew that there was a possibility that everything could fall apart; he understood that not even he could predict everything. However, he—_unlike the old meddling fool_—wasn't going to have it all blow up into his face. Even if the girl proved to be weak-minded and easily destroyed, it would not change anything.

He would still be Lord Voldemort and he would still be all-powerful. And he would still _be very much alive._

The girl was an experiment and if it failed …

Well, then he would finally kill her.

Voldemort smirked slightly.

What he demanded from others, he demanded ten times from himself.

He was a very fair man.

Or was it not fair to demand respect for all the glorious magic he had produced, for all his knowledge and power? For what he was?

So it was only fair that he had to make this little show for the Mudblood, for he would not be tolerating her childish, respectless behavior any longer. He needed her to understand the consequences of angering a Dark Lord. Of angering _him_.

And understand she did.

It actually was quite disturbing to know just how lacking nowadays education has become. Hogwarts used to teach so many things when he was a student there, and now …

However, considering just _who_ the Headmaster of Hogwarts used to be, Voldemort assumed it was a miracle that _this particular _Mudblood had learned so much.

Knitting socks like a deranged muggle and gobbling lemon drops in amounts that couldn't have been healthy, Dumbledore seemed to have lost his marbles, as he slowly but purposefully removed all dangerous—_useful_—books from the Restricted Section and put his old hands on the Hogwarts curriculum.

And now children didn't even know what a Dark Lord was.

_Pathetic._

Dumbledore—_he still could not think of the old man without his insides burning in rage_—had gathered a great deal of knowledge about _his_ business, Voldemort was forced to admit, and Albus Dumbledore had almost managed to be his downfall. And it was _sickening._

Occluding his mind, Voldemort pushed the thoughts of the old codger aside—now was not the time for it, as he wanted to remain calm. If he kept thinking about what the meddling old fool had almost accomplished, the Mudblood would be lying dead at his feet even before she opened her mouth.

He hated him _that much._

But back to the topic of Dark Lords …

The children that Dumbledore—_there just was no way not to mention the old jester, as his disgusting hands had managed to rummage in way too many things_—had nurtured and put on the valiant path to destroy him didn't even know who they were fighting against.

The fool had conveniently forgotten to mention that a Dark Lord was no ordinary wizard, nor had he felt inclined to share the little piece of information that a Dark Lord was not just a dark wizard who liked to dress up in majestic robes and cast a Cruciatus Curse from time to time.

It was _so_ much more.

_He_ was so much more than just a dark wizard bent on world-domination.

For he, Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin, was magic—pure, unrestrained magic with no ridiculous limitations.

Noticing that his thoughts were leading him—_once again_—further away from the Mudblood and their current situation, Lord Voldemort cleared his mind and snapped his fingers while leaning back further into the chair.

It was time to talk.

_xxx_

Hermione sat in the chair, her legs pressed together and her hands on her knees, her eyes trained on the fireplace. Her right leg and left arm were pulsating, shooting iron-hot pain through her body, and she had to shift her arm in order to lessen pain. To not scream.

Her physical pain was nothing in comparison to the suffocating, heart-clenching terror she felt inside. Hermione really wondered if she was going to just snap, for no normal mind of a seventeen-year-old girl—no matter if she were a witch or not—could take it all and not break.

The punishment had been so brutally, so brilliantly selected—and she had actually been afraid of a stupid Cruciatus Curse—that now she had no doubt about what Voldemort really was.

He was more than just a killer.

He was a true sadist with no boundaries and immense power at his disposal. And now the world had become his playground.

A shudder ran through her body.

Harry would always tell them how insane, how bloodthirsty the Dark Lord was, but it seemed to her now that even Harry had no clue what was hidden behind the ghastly façade of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Or Dumbledore for that matter ...

Hermione was still conflicted when it concerned the late Headmaster. Had it not been for her almost compulsive need to respect elders or authority figures, Hermione would have called Dumbledore many, many bad names. She wasn't sure who had played a bigger part in her life that had ended with her current predicament—Voldemort, Dumbledore, or her.

She wondered if Dumbledore had known what Voldemort was really like.

Had he really not known just how demoniac—for she couldn't find a better word at the moment to describe him—Voldemort had always been? And if he did know, then why had he chosen not to share it with them?

It was a matter she needed to mull over when she had the time.

Now, all her focus should be on him…

Voldemort.

He had found one true weakness and hit without mercy. She would have baited him further and further had he just cast a torture curse on her. But no, he understood that inflicting pain on others was a far better punishment when dealing with Hermione Granger.

_It hurt her the most when others had to pay for her mistakes. And he knew it._

She would have spat at him after whatever torture he could have inflicted upon her and continued behaving—_well, yes!_—childishly, as Voldemort had called it.

Now, however, such thoughts were out of her head. She would not enrage him on purpose.

At least not before she understood how to behave and what he had in store for her.

For he was planning something—_something evil, no doubt_—as Hermione really could not find another reason as to why she was sitting opposite him in a comfortable chair and not lying in some cold, moldy dungeon. Dead.

Hermione was positive that today's lesson—she shuddered inwardly at the screams that were still ringing in her ears—was a tiny drop in the bottomless ocean of things that Voldemort had done and would do.

If she lived, if he didn't kill her, Hermione was sure it would not be the last time he would do something so horrible in front of her eyes, just because he wanted to.

Just because he could.

Voldemort was correct when he had told her that he was someone she had never met before, that she had no idea what he was capable of.

And for that, Hermione was grateful.

She wasn't sure just how much she could take now.

Her internal terrors and musings were brought to a halt when Hermione heard Voldemort snap his fingers.

A small pop let Hermione know that he had summoned a house-elf.

The tiny creature was shivering so hard and Hermione had to yet again bite her tongue and just watch.

"Bring us tea and a meal for Miss Granger." Voldemort's cold voice was quiet but deadly.

The elf bowed so fast and so deep that Hermione had actually heard its little head hit the floor.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at Voldemort.

_He hadn't been kidding, after all._

Hermione sat unmoving, looking directly into his red, sadistic eyes.

She was ready to listen.

_xxx_

After the pathetic creature had finally brought the tea and a meal, Lord Voldemort beckoned for Hermione to take her cup.

The girl's hand didn't tremble as she reached for the thin porcelain cup, and he tilted his head in silent approval.

One should always be in control of one's body.

Control was power.

He kept silently watching her as he pulled a small vial from the pocket of his robe and uncorked it before putting it on the table. The tiny vial was made of thick, dark red glass, and there was no way to guess what it had inside without actually tilting the bottle.

He saw her tense, her eyes afraid but her gaze still strong.

She wanted to ask him so badly that Voldemort could hear her voiceless question as if she were screaming into his ear.

"I want you to pour this potion into your tea, Miss Granger," he stated in a hushed, lulling voice.

A pause …

"May I ask what it is … Sir?"

She caught herself before he even had to remind her.

_Very nice._

A cutting remark was on the tip of his tongue when he suddenly decided to proceed differently.

"_That_ is Amortentia, Miss Granger." His reply was smooth and even, no emotion present in his voice.

He saw the girl shudder.

"I take it you are familiar with this particular potion? "

He didn't even need to use Legilimency or their _special _connection to read her thoughts as they were now clearly written all over her face.

Little, naïve Mudblood.

Her continued silence was grating on his nerves.

"What did I say about repeating myself, little girl?"

He watched her swallow hard and clench her tiny fists before she finally gathered her wits and answered.

"I am familiar with this potion, Sir." Her voice had started to tremble. The Mudblood wasn't stupid.

_Delicious._

He made a humming sound before leaning forward and reducing the distance between them.

The girl was now simply terrified.

"And why haven't you poured it into your tea yet?" he breathed a soft hiss looking directly into her petrified, oh so scared, face.

"Please."

The Mudblood had actually started to cry.

Her quiet, but oh so desperate, plea was like music to his ears. He wanted more.

"Pour the potion. Now."

The _or else_ was left out, as Voldemort didn't feel inclined to even remind her. She should remember it well. If not … well, he wouldn't mind showing her again.

Her small form was now shaking uncontrollably, her tiny fists clenching and her eyes closed shut.

He wished to prolong her agony, but then his attention was suddenly caught by some blurred images that were bombarding her trembling conscious. He looked closer at what her imaginative mind was producing.

_Is that … ?_

It was just too much—her trembling body, her shivering mind, her cascading tears, and those images-

And he had lost it.

He laughed.

He laughed so hard that he had to lean back and support his head with one arm on the armrest.

_It was just too funny._

_xxx_

Hermione was in a middle of a serious debate with her own mind. She was not sitting here, so near Lord Voldemort, with a bottle of Amortentia on the table. She was not here!

Hermione was ready to beg, to do anything, just not take this potion. She would not be under a love potion influence with Voldemort in control.

_All the things he could do …_

Hermione's mind shuddered when images of what this sadist would no doubt do to her started bombarding her already fragile mind.

One image worse than another, and Hermione was ready to puke.

She was ready to ask for death, but the consequences that could befall innocent people just because she had dared, were too fresh in her mind.

And then she heard his eerie laugh.

She swallowed hard.

_xxx_

The girl was staring at him now with her big brown eyes full of horror.

It had taken him some time to calm down, but he had to give her the credit—_she was very amusing_.

It was a pity really, that he had to wrap it up so quickly, but he had much more important things to do than to sit here and play with the girl, no matter how amusing she was proving to be.

"Miss Granger—" He was still amused and his voice was now more sibilant, silky even. "—even though I highly appreciate your effort to lighten up my mood, there is no need for such dramatics."

The girl actually gaped at him.

Before she could interrupt him, he waved his hand and the small vial floated to the girl's still form.

She was now shaking her head, looking him in the eyes.

"I will not take it … Sir."

Such a brave, gullible little Mudblood.

"_Imperio!" _

_xxx_

In her panic, Hermione hadn't even noticed when Voldemort took his wand out, and she did not have the time to react before all her worries were lifted from her shoulders and she felt calm.

For the first time in her life Hermione Granger felt so calm, so at ease, that it was hard to remind herself where she was and why she was under said spell.

"_Pour the potion into your cup and drink."_ The hissing voice was soothing her raw nerves like a cooling balm.

She tried to fight, she tried to resist the Imperius Curse, but it was just so strong!

When Barty Crouch Jr. was parading around as Alastor Moody—the Defence Against the Arts Professor—during her fourth year at Hogwarts, she had had the chance to feel the effect of the curse. She couldn't break it then, and she definitely had no chance of breaking it now, as Voldemort's Imperius felt hundred of times stronger.

It was impossible.

Hermione watched herself pour the potion into her cup with a sense of doom.

She, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was going to end up as Voldemort's plaything.

A gutless, drooling slave.

A possible sex-slave.

She preferred death.

She took a sip , not noticing the aroma of the tea nor the potion's bitter taste.

She was doomed.

_xxx_

He lifted the curse a few minutes after she had swallowed the mixture of tea and potion.

He was now looking at her with those horrible eyes of his that were now _twinkling._

The aftertaste of the potion was strangely familiar. Hermione tried to understand just why she still wasn't salivating over his form if the potion had been correctly brewed—she should have felt the effects already.

_Unless …_

Her mouth opened in disbelief and astonishment.

_Unless it hadn't been Amortentia all along…_

Voldemort's amused smile made Hermione's hand clasp her mouth tight, as she was sure she was going to scream. Or laugh. Or both.

_He pulled her leg! That, that... Slytherin!_

"The Calming Draught will take effect in a few minutes and then we can talk. You need to calm yourself, Miss Granger." His voice was now back to its usual coldness, but a hint of amusement still lingered there.

_He was unpredictable._

With disbelieving eyes, Hermione watched the amused smirk grow on his serpentine face before it morphed into a genuine smile.

And it looked _horrible._

_xxx_

_AN/ Did you really believe Voldemort would use Amortentia? ;D One more slow chapter and we'll be moving faster. Thank you for reading! Waves!_


	7. The First Wish

_AN/ Most of the chapter is Hermione's POV. The longest chapter so far._

_I hope you enjoy it. As always, your comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated._

_Longer AN at the end of the chapter._

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**I, Horcrux**

Chapter Seven

The Calming Draught that Voldemort had presented as Amortentia—_Hermione still could not believe just how easily he had managed to trick her!_—was working now. Hermione felt not only calmer and more at ease, but her turbulent mind was slowing down as well.

She could breathe.

_Finally._

The Dark Lord was quiet and Hermione decided not to test his patience and remained silent as well.

Quietly sipping her tea, Hermione decided to use the chance and study Voldemort's appearance in more detail. If he had anything against it, she was positive he would let her know.

She _was_ curious.

He was still sitting in his chair, his one hand supporting his chin and the other lying calmly on the armrest, one familiar bone-white wand swaying slowly on his ring finger.

_How does he do that?_

He looked relaxed and Hermione wondered, _not for the first time_, just what he was thinking.

His tall but thin frame was clad in dark, lightly shimmering robes—_silk, most probably_—and it pooled over him, cascading down to the floor.

His face looked serpentine and very pale—_almost white_—with two small holes instead of a nose. He had no hair and his bald scalp was almost reflecting the blazing flames from the fireplace.

_Does he polish it?_

His eyes lit up with hidden fire and Hermione wanted to smack her face.

Hermione could see Voldemort close his eyes for a second—_he had no lashes!_—before slowly opening them again.

His red eyes were trained on her, but his gaze lacked its usual drilling, penetrating quality. He was simply sitting there, allowing her to compose herself and watch him watch her.

Hermione felt peculiar.

On one hand, she was still shocked from the events of the last day—_two days, Hermione corrected herself_—and no matter how quick on the uptake she had always been, she still needed time. And she was still in his presence which didn't help her thinking process at all.

On the other hand, Hermione's calm mind was now demanding answers, wanting information and refusing to step back and just let her study him.

For he was something she had never seen before. Supreme evilness aside, not only was he superior in magic to anyone she had ever met—_possibly excluding Dumbledore—_but he was also extremely intelligent.

_And she had thought herself to be smart._

Hermione did not know Lord Voldemort at all, and it made her curious mind explode with millions of questions.

She didn't even try to assure herself that she could predict his next moves, for it would be just a waste of time. He had shown her today that she was nothing compared to him.

_And she didn't like it._

Hermione did not have any clue what Voldemort wanted to discuss with her, and if she had to guess she would have thought it had something to do with the blasted Horcrux that was inside of her head.

_Inside of her._

Strangely, the incident in the bathroom had been the only time she had felt its presence. She could not feel the Horcrux; she could not feel it at all. He was just there and that was it.

Hermione vividly remembered how she felt _there_,how the Horcrux had reacted to Voldemort's presence. She still didn't know where they had all been, and it wasn't like she had the time to think about it …

If Hermione had to guess again, she would say that Voldemort had something to do with it. He could control it, as he had shown her while on their … trip. Hermione tried her damnedest not to think about those horrible moments. _Not now._

The barrier inside her head had not been there in the Forest—_she would have noticed_—which meant that it had appeared—Hermione used the word loosely, _as she was sure it didn't just appear there on its own_—sometime between her falling asleep and waking up.

Which meant Voldemort _did _see her while she was out cold.

_What else did he do?_

_Did he remove my pullover to see the mark between my breasts? Has he seen them while I was sleeping? Did he-_

Hermione honestly did not think that he, Lord Voldemort, would rape her while she was sleeping or that he would pay any attention to her body overall. However, he was the Dark Lord and she didn't know what to expect.

He made her feel peculiar.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that I did not salivate over you prone figure as you slept on a dark, moonlit bed."

He didn't have to word it that way—_and with so much venom that_ _if he were to bite her, she'd die from poisoning_—but it was exactly what Hermione had thought about before he decided to break the silence.

"Nor did I touch your virgin body in any way, sexual included." His voice was gaining an annoyed undertone as he mercilessly continued addressing her fears.

_He did see her naked in the bathroom._

She did not know why, but she was afraid that he could force her to be … intimate with him.

She wasn't ugly and he was a man—was he one?—and if he was, then-

"_**I suggest you stop on your own. Before I force you to do so."**_

Hermione couldn't stop the shudder that ran through her body at his bone-chilling tone and the use of Parseltongue.

Where could she voice her fears if not in her head?

"I apologize, Sir," Hermione's quiet whisper sounded like a scream in the quiet, spacey room.

Voldemort rubbed his now closed eyes with a thumb and a forefinger. He looked to be _almost-there_ on his frenzy-metre_._

_That wasn't even a proper word!_

She felt stupid now.

"You have only one thing I am interested in—and that is my _own_ Horcrux. So I suggest you put your wild fantasies to rest, Miss Granger."

_I don't have such fantasies! That isn't fair!_

Hermione felt so childish now, sitting near the Dark Lord and thinking all those stupid thoughts.

She needed to stop provoking him! Was she stupid?

"I have promised that I would be lenient with you today, but I find my patience thinning." Voldemort was now sitting straight, and Hermione felt his gaze return to its usual drilling quality. She had his full attention now.

She preferred him relaxed.

"Then you will listen closely and not interrupt me," the Dark Lord's voice had a note of finality in it that let Hermione know that there would be no warning or reprimand next time.

Hermione nodded her head in silent agreement.

"The barrier inside your head is a form of Forced Occlumency—a branch of magic that can only be accessed by selected wizards, yourself excluded, for an unknown period of time." Voldemort started his speech casually, with an air of lightness that Hermione would have never associated with him in the first place.

She conveniently ignored the protest that had automatically arisen at his jab and focused all her attention on his next words.

He was right. She had still so much to learn!

And he was providing her with exactly what she needed—information.

"Because of our _connection_, you will find yourself experiencing every emotion that I experience. However, that is not the problem."

_Not a problem?_

"The problem is that it works both ways. I find myself forced to constantly fight off your emotions. You disturb me, little girl. And I don't like it."

_As if I did…_

"Seeing as we both agree that keeping our minds as far from each other as possible would be the best option, then you will come to me every three days in the beginning, and, hopefully, every other week or even a month after you start learning how to Occlude your mind without my assistance."

_Did he say Occlude?_

_Every three days, a month … Does he mean what I thought he did? Or is it another hoax?_

Voldemort tilted his head to the right, his shoulders relaxed but straight.

"You are free to go after we are done, Miss Granger," he said with an indifferent but indulging voice.

Hermione forgot how to breathe for a moment.

She was free!

But she had his Horcrux …

"And here comes the interesting part." At this, Voldemort smiled before sitting back in the chair and crossing his feet. A slightly pointy, black shoe toe was peeking from under the mass of robes—_she had imagined him barefoot, with long, yellow pointy toenails and-_

"Miss Granger, if my feet interest you more than your own well-being, then you seriously need to straighten your priorities."

She felt her cheeks heat up and she knew she was blushing.

She couldn't help herself! She was curious. And it was her mind!

The Dark Lord's hand dropped into his pocket and withdrew something glittering.

_Another potion …_

But no, it wasn't a potion, Hermione decided on further notice_—it was a ring!_

Horror-struck, Hermione stared at the simple golden band that Voldemort was now holding with his thumb and index fingers.

_Was he going to marry-_

"Is there something I have missed, Miss Granger? Do you have some unhealthy obsession with my person that I should be aware of?" Voldemort's voice was now mocking, with a hint of lingering amusement.

Hermione blushed.

She did not have an obsession with him! She felt stupid.

Her thoughts were not listening to her today. At all.

_Besides, he probably can't even get it up, with all his transformations-_

Hermione's swirling thoughts were brought to abrupt halt as she couldn't take a breath. Her throat was squeezed with an invincible force and her lungs burned.

"What part of today's lesson did you not understand?" Voldemort's voice made her heart clench for he was truly furious now.

Hermione tried to bring her hands to her throat, to scratch it raw just to get some air, when she found her hands immobile, as if they weren't her hands anymore.

Panic started to bloom now, the effects of the Calming Draught disappearing rapidly and Hermione screamed in her mind. She needed to breathe.

'_**I didn't mean it, Sir!'**_

She was released when the invisible force disappeared and her lips opened in silent scream as air rushed into her lungs.

It had never felt so good … to just breathe.

Her hands were also her own again, and Hermione brought them to her now sore throat.

She promised herself she'd remain quiet and listen.

The Dark Lord was looking at her with barely restrained rage and Hermione gulped in anticipation. She was therefore greatly surprised when he leaned closer and whispered in a hushed, lulling voice.

"_**Tell me, what are your dreams, Miss Granger?"**_

Hermione kept an iron will on all her thoughts and it helped her not to gawk mentally. Her facial expression was, however, out of her control, for she was sure her eyes were now as wide as sausages. The Parseltongue didn't help at all.

"_**If you had a chance at, let's say, a normal life, what would you do then?"**_

Hermione pondered for a second before truthfully answering the question.

_Not like she could lie …_

"I would study. I would finish Hogwarts, " Hermione paused to watch his reaction as he nodded his head for her to continue.

"I would study—" She was repeating herself!"—and then, probably, I would apply for a job at the Ministry or maybe Hogwarts," Hermione started surely, but ended with a weird sense of disappointment and incertitude.

She had such a turbulent life that she hadn't really given a thought lately to what her dreams were now. All she could think most of in the last year was how to survive.

Voldemort nodded his head again.

"So, I take it, you are sure only about the studying part?" he asked in a hushed but urging voice.

"Well … yes." His eyes blazed and Hermione quickly added, "Sir."

"And what would you want to study, Miss Granger?" Voldemort was now calm and relaxed again, and Hermione found herself lulled into relaxing as well.

So far, he was very polite and the conversation was serious but she didn't feel threaten now.

As Voldemort half-pulled the ring on his index finger and reached for his cup, Hermione decided to follow. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"I would finish Hogwarts and then, em, I would pursue some other forms of studying—apprentice to a Master, perhaps." She paused and took a mouthful of tea and the Calming Draught that was giving a slightly bitter aftertaste.

"I would have loved to study Arithmancy or Ancient Runes or Charms," Hermione sighed a bit dreamingly, her mind already imagining what it could have been like. _In another life._

"Interesting." Lord Voldemort was now twirling the golden ring between his fingers, looking pensive.

Hermione wondered again what the ring was for.

_And what was interesting?_

"Here is my proposition for you. Listen very carefully as I will not repeat myself," he said while catching her gaze and holding it, not letting it go.

She was all ears.

"You have a choice to become my magical ward, " Voldemort smirked at Hermione's shocked face before hitting the nail into her coffin. "Or die now."

"Magical ward?" Hermione managed to move her uncooperative tongue.

Silence.

"Sir," she added while licking her lips.

"Yes, I would be your magical guardian. Seeing that you carry a tiny part of my soul, I feel it's only appropriate that I should supervise your further education and any other official or magical procedures," Voldemort explained with an air of impatience.

"My further education, Sir?" There must be something wrong with her hearing.

_Had I finally cracked?_

"You will be attending a University of my choosing." The Dark Lord looked at her with pensive, hard eyes.

"University, Sir?" Now, Hermione was sure that she was hallucinating.

"Are you a parrot, Miss Granger?"

Trying not to stammer, Hermione finally voiced her disbelieving question.

"Am I going to attend a magical University, Sir?" She tried to tell herself that she wasn't really holding her breath.

"No, Muggle," Voldemort actually sneered at her.

_Well, of course he would choose a magical university!_

Hermione mentally gave herself a T for Troll and a silent but meaningful _Duh._

She felt ashamed.

_She wasn't stupid. Normally._

Hermione suddenly felt out of her depth. Again.

"I don't understand, Sir." Hermione wasn't slow but now she felt her mind numb.

_Why would he do it?_

"I am doing this not for you, but for myself and myself only, Miss Granger. Your mind is most calm and collected when you study." Voldemort got up from the chair and walked over to the fireplace, turning his back to her as he continued, "Therefore, I have decided it would be the best to send you to a magical university that would challenge your mind and keep your revolting emotions at bay. You will study hard, little girl. It will not be a walk in the park for your intellect any longer. "

Something told Hermione to shut up and wait. _Be silent._

This something was proven correct when Voldemort continued after a pause.

"_**It is time for you to walk on your own, Miss Granger. Stop letting foolish beliefs and obtuse friends ground you. Allow yourself to fly."**_

His words were smooth and silky and Hermione felt herself shiver.

His words cut into her memory without her even thinking about it.

It was the nicest thing he said about her.

_That she was meant to fly._

She was sure she wasn't supposed to feel pleased.

Hermione thought that her head would explode from all the questions that she wanted to ask him.

What university? What would she study?

_Dark Arts, Necromancy_-

Her thoughts halted when Voldemort turned to face her and took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

Hermione's heart clenched.

"Do you accept?" His voice was cool and calm when he approached her and twirled the ring in front of her face.

"I …"

_She needed time to think!_

"If you don't accept, then I shall kill you now—Horcrux or no Horcrux, make no mistake, little girl." Voldemort squatted near her, and Hermione could only watch him with terror suffocating her mind.

"Not only will I kill you, I will torture all your friends before killing them also." Voldemort's eyes were now on the same level as hers and she could see he wasn't joking.

He was dead serious.

"And if that is not enough, I will also restore your filthy parents' memory before giving them to the werewolves. " A sadistic smile was now stretched over the Dark Lord's serpentine face as he took in her horror and fear.

"And … and if I accept, will you spare them?" It had taken all her willpower just to not scream in agony.

"If you accept, I will not purposely seek them out," Voldemort offered in a calm but impatient voice.

She was going to regret it, Hermione just knew it, as making deals with the devil had never been a good idea.

But she had no choice. He would kill everyone without a second thought. Had he not shown her today just what he was capable of, Hermione was sure she'd think longer before answering.

"I accept … Sir," her voice was steady, even though she was trembling like a leaf when his hand shot out and grabbed her right wrist.

His fingers felt so cold when he pushed the simple gold band onto her index finger before releasing her hand and standing up.

"Then so be it," he intoned while holding his wand trained at the now iron-hot metal band.

Hermione was about to scream from the pain when the burning started to lessen before disappearing completely.

Looking at her index finger, Hermione felt the ring vibrate lightly.

A whirl of magic could be felt in the room as the bond was sealed.

"I expect you in three days, Miss Granger. Your studies start in a week, so I suggest you hurry with the packing."

The Dark Lord looked at the stunned Hermione before moving to the door.

_What? In a week?_

_How was she supposed to come to him? Where were they, anyway? Was it his home? Where-_

"Use your mind for at least a second, you stupid child!" Voldemort barked suddenly. "Where would you find fluffy pink carpets and huge mirrors in gold frames? Not to mention the peacocks and flamingos outside."

Hermione pursed her lips when she felt yet another blush spread over her cheeks.

_Malfoy Manor._

Hermione attributed her lack of observation and overall dullness she was showing today to the stress of dealing with one Dark Lord.

"The ring has the properties of a Portkey. Activate it and you'll find yourself in my presence." Voldemort sounded amused now.

_How was she supposed to activate it?_

"You have three days to figure it out, little girl."

"I have a question, Sir." Hermione shot up from her chair when Voldemort moved to open the door.

_He was leaving!_

Hermione saw Voldemort stop and turn to face her.

"But of course you do, Miss Granger." His red eyes were serious but his voice was not as cold as she had anticipated. Nor was he enraged.

"Is Harry alive?" Hermione held her breath when those horrible eyes shone with flames of rage and anger.

_She needed to know!_

Voldemort took his time and Hermione was ready to bounce from anticipation when she finally heard his reply.

"Potter will be leaving with you tomorrow," Voldemort smirked at Hermione's gobsmacked expression.

_What?_

"This is not a kindergarten, nor do I have baby-sitters. I have no need for obtuse children polluting the air that I breathe." He was angry again.

_He still didn't answer her question!_

"I haven't killed him yet, little girl. He'll live. He's nothing important, not anymore."

Hermione tried not to smile, but the relief was so strong that she thought she'd pass out even before Voldemort had left.

His previous words seemed to finally register in her exhausted mind and she just had to ask.

"Why cannot we leave today, Sir?"

She knew she was pushing him, but she was so damn curious and after finding out that Harry was alive and that they'd be leaving this place tomorrow, Hermione could not hold herself back. She was a Gryffindor!

Voldemort actually smirked before pointing to the meal that was previously brought by the house-elf.

"You haven't eaten yet—" His voice mocking and ruthless. "—and I would be a poor host if I left my ward to starve."

Hermione thought her jaw would hit the floor.

"You will eat everything that is on the plate and will drink this—" Voldemort suddenly threw a small vial onto the bed. "—before going to sleep. Tomorrow morning, you are free to go wherever you wish."

Before Hermione had a chance to say anything, Voldemort opened the door and left.

_xxx_

Hermione Granger sat back in her chair—_she wouldn't be sitting where Voldemort had sat before_—and took a deep breath.

She had so much to think about, so many things unclear that Hermione was sure her head would just explode.

After consuming—_like a wild, hungry animal—_ the deliciously warm meal that consisted of a beef wellington with fingerling potatoes and some marinated salad—_she didn't think she had ever eaten anything as tasty_—Hermione paced the length of the room, trying to sort out her thoughts.

Her new clothes and especially her robes were warm but light and Hermione found that she rather liked them if she forgot for a second who provided her with them in the first place.

She wished she had her wand!

_When will I get my wand back? If at all …_

She was alive and almost free; Harry was alive and almost free; and in one week, she was supposed to go to a magical university. It sounded almost ridiculously relieving. She would lie if she said she wasn't feeling hopeful. _Maybe it was not the end?_

People can say all they want about having no fear of death, but as soon as they actually met Death, the "not-being afraid" could drastically change. Not that there were many people who had met Death and then lived to tell the tale—her, Harry and Voldemort; both Voldemort and Harry for a second time.

Hermione shuddered.

It hadn't been pleasant.

_Poor Harry._

_What was happening to Harry now?_

She highly doubted that Voldemort would just let Harry go without first either breaking or almost-breaking him. After witnessing the Dark Lord's sadistic side from a very close distance, Hermione Granger was sure that Harry was suffering now_._ Voldemort hated him._ And there was nothing she could do._

She could have chosen not to eat, but it would have not changed anything. Voldemort would still inflict immerse pain on Harry and the only thing Hermione could do was hope that Harry would be strong enough.

_That Harry would not go insane._

She already tried the handle of the door—_he didn't say she couldn't!—_and the balcony doors—_locked_—and there was just nothing to do but sit in a chair and think.

She was Voldemort's magical ward._ He_ was her guardian now. Hermione still didn't want to believe it even when she said it out loud.

It was hard to comprehend that all your rights were now placed with a man like the Dark Lord.

Hermione promised herself to read everything she would find on the topic. She didn't understand his decision to send her away and it made her wary. Even though the reasoning had been logical then, now she wasn't so sure anymore. _Something fishy was going on._

_What would happen if someone tried to kill her?_

Also, Hermione wasn't so sure anymore how she felt about dying.

The Horcrux had to be destroyed, but then …

_What about her?_

Hermione wished to believe that she was brave enough to sacrifice herself one more time…

She would lie if she said she was ready.

The ring felt warm and Hermione twisted it on her index finger absentmindedly.

She'd better get used to it. She didn't wear rings often.

It was futile to try and analyze Lord Voldemort, their current predicament, Harry, Ron, and the whole war situation when she couldn't think straight. Her thoughts swirled in circles and Hermione decided she needed to stop.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the vial that Voldemort had previously tossed onto the bed.

She had already identified what was inside—_Dreamless Sleep potion_—and all she wanted was for tomorrow to arrive soon, so she drank the whole bottle before quietly lying on top of the duvet and fell asleep even before her head touched the pillow.

Had Hermione Granger stayed awake, she maybe would have thought about the stone that she had collected in the Forbidden Forest and put into her jeans' pocket.

However, Hermione Granger was deep asleep and didn't think about anything, the stone included.

Had she thought about the stone and tried to retrieve it from her old clothes that were huddled together in the bathroom, she would have found the stone long gone.

No, Hermione Granger was fast asleep.

_xxx_

Harry Potter was thrashing on the floor under the most excruciating pain he had ever felt; the pain seemed to tear him apart, not caring about his broken fingers or bloody head.

He was _so_ close to snapping. He was _so_ close to losing his mind. The last desperate thoughts seemed to balance on the thin cord that connected two mountains, and the cord was shaking. _Someone_ was twitching the cord on which Harry's last coherent—_sane—_thoughts quaked.

"Renounce your right for the cloak." Voldemort's cold voice was entering every cell of his body. "Renounce the invisibility cloak or I will continue torturing your Mudblood friend until she starts begging for death, Harry."

This was a third time Voldemort demanded that he released the cloak. Harry tried to resist, but it was too much.

"Promise you let her go," Harry's voice was raw from all the screaming. It was just _too much_.

"You have my word, Harry Potter."

"I renounce it." His voice was full of regret and fear.

_Hermione will be ok._

_xxx_

"How do we like our Crucio, Harry?"

His biggest mistake probably didn't even hear him, as this was his fifth Crucio already, and he wasn't anywhere near being done.

Before the boy's mind could snap, Voldemort cancelled his curse. He—_unlike Bella and Barty_—had always checked the mental stability of the victim.

It would be a pity if the mind snapped and the torture had no more purpose—_he didn't torture vegetables. _

Not that he cared about the moral part, but it just wasn't the same when the victim was almost brain-dead.

If the victim couldn't understand that he was being tortured, then what was the point?

He tortured Potter for a long time and not only physically. Mental torture worked even better on him.

_And the other Gryffindor in his care, for that matter._

Finally, _finally_, after threatening Potter for the third time with the Mudblood's terrible fate—_she was now sleeping in a warm, cozy bed_—he heard what he came for.

"I renounce it."

And then he felt the stone in his robe pocket burn, he felt the wand vibrate in the inner pocket and he saw the cloak quiver.

He had all three Deathly Hallows now.

He was the Master of Death.

_xxx_

_AN/ This is the last chapter of the first part, called** I, Horcrux**. The second part will be called **Two Steps From Hell** and it will also be the main part of the story. **I, Horcrux** is meant to be a sort of introduction; while I placed the figures on the chessboard to play with. If you're wondering, there will be three parts._

_The story will be renamed and it will stay **Two Steps from Hell **from next chapter and onwards._

_See you soon! Waves!_


	8. Master of Death

_AN: Here is a new chapter. This one is huge by my standards- 21 Word pages :) _

_I apologize if the story's new name caused you confusion. I should have named it Two Steps from the beginning. My bad._

_I try to keep everyone in character, but I am not sure if I always succeed. This chapter is from several POVs and I hope you enjoy it._

_Let me know what you think._

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

Chapter Eight

Remus Lupin took his last sip of the cold coffee, and with a bang, he crashed the mug on the table.

The black liquid washed over the wooden surface before soaking itself into the thin paper of the _Daily Prophet_. Slowly, but surely, the liquid spread over today's newspaper, and soon Remus saw the words _"_**The new Minister of Magic, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, has welcomed reforms …**_" _disappear in darkness.

_An omen._

There was only darkness ahead.

Remus could not just believe it—that they had lost, that Voldemort won.

He closed his eyes.

_So many had died._

The Order of the Phoenix existed now in their minds only. There was nothing they could do.

They—_he_—were useless.

Remus tried not to think about the future his son would have. Maybe, just maybe, he would prefer if his son grew up in another country other than Britain_. In France_. But it was just a dream as they had no money. _He had no money_.

The Goblins—unlike the last war—were now fully aligned with the Dark Side. There were rumors that most head goblins had been killed for treason, and the rest now functioned as the Dark Lord's bankers.

The Ministry of Magic was now fully controlled by Voldemort with Lucius Malfoy in charge as Minister.

Remus would have thought that Voldemort would act more slowly and cautiously. But no, the Death Eaters were now everywhere; they weren't hiding anymore.

Now, they were the controlling force.

_And no one dared to breathe a word._

It was sickening.

Three days! It took three days for people to forget about that night at Hogwarts; it had taken the common folk to forget that there had been war just three days ago!

Now, most purebloods wore an expression of pure triumph on their snobby faces; most half-bloods were behaving like good citizens of the New Era, and the Muggle-borns …

The prosecutions had been stopped two days ago, and now all Muggle-borns were given a chance- to either declare their loyalty to the new regime or lose their wands and lives.

And Remus wondered if the same would have happened if Albus had still been alive.

Voldemort had only feared one wizard, and now, the Dark Lord had no fear at all.

It was all over from the moment Albus Dumbledore died. It had all ended then, but they tried to fight, not wanting to admit the fact that everything they believed in, everything they cared about was going to be destroyed.

_They believed in Harry._

Now, not only did Voldemort have a puppet as a Minister, but also Rabastan Lestrange—_the last the name said it all_—was the new Hogwarts Headmaster.

The whole magical community was now fully under the Dark Lord's control.

And there was nothing they could do.

Remus wondered, not for the first time since leaving the Headmaster's Office that night, just what would Dumbledore do now.

All his plans were crushed and had crumbled.

_Where was Harry?_

_Where was Hermione?_

Taking a deep breath, Remus walked over to the oval vessel on the other side of the table.

The swirling, shimmering liquid mocked him with its lightness.

That night, trying to find Harry, Remus had failed, for he'd never found his pup.

But he'd found something else.

He'd found answers.

And Remus still could not believe just what games Albus had been playing all those years.

_And Severus …_

It tore his heart that Severus had been on their side all this time; it tore his soul that he now had no chance to apologize to his once school-rival who had given his life for the Light.

_To save Harry._

It was three days before the full moon, and there just was no way to contain his animalistic rage.

It has been three days since he had last seen Harry.

It was also three days since anyone had seen Hermione Granger.

Remus Lupin had searched the whole Hogwarts Castle, looking for his pup. He was going crazy with worry when Luna Lovegood—bloodied but alive—had managed to get a hold of him. The strange, but so loyal, girl told him she had seen Harry leave the corridor that connected the Headmaster's office with the rest of the school not so long ago.

And then Remus had found the Pensieve.

With a furious roar, Remus Lupin slammed both of his fists on the table and laid his head between his hands.

They all had failed.

Remus was about to get up and get himself something stronger to drink—to drown his sorrow and horror—when he felt the wards around the Burrow tingle, and then he heard a pop in the front yard.

Running quickly to the entrance, almost tripping over the chair in his hurry, Remus watched with disbelieving eyes and a hammering heart two figures on the lawn.

"Harry," Remus roared as he couldn't control his raging emotions, "Hermione!"

Hermione was holding the unconscious form of her best friend, her one hand firm around Harry's shoulders and the other holding her wand.

_xxx_

When Hermione woke up this morning, she was greeted with the sight of the same house-elf who had brought her meal yesterday holding a pillow in his tiny hands, her wand on top of it.

Just as Hermione was about to reach for her precious wand, a body appeared from nowhere and fell on the glass table, smashing it with brutal force.

The bruised form of Harry Potter was lying between the glass shards and Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and raced to her friend.

Holding her panic at bay and tightly holding Harry's prone figure, Hermione concentrated and Apparated away.

The wards of Malfoy Manor tingled but let them pass through.

They were free.

_xxx_

Molly Weasley was sitting near her comatose son, lightly combing his tangled hair with gentle fingers.

Ron still had not woken up, and the only thing they could do was wait and hope.

With trembling lips, Molly whispered another prayer. She prayed all the time now. But it did not help.

Fred was dead.

Ron was in a deep, magical coma with no clear prognosis.

George was on the verge of going crazy with grief.

Bill was bitten by a werewolf, and it was by pure luck that he didn't transform fully.

Arthur was now jobless, after Lucius Malfoy had personally booted him out of the Ministry.

Percy and Charlie had also lost their jobs—the Ministry terminated Percy's contract and Charlie was advised to leave on his own will.

Ginny was crying all the time.

Harry and Hermione were still missing.

There was no perspective for any of them and no normal future; only darkness lay ahead.

Molly swallowed a desperate sob when she thought of what had become of her family.

All her children were now suffering—or dead—and there was nothing she could do.

They had no money.

A deranged cry of "Harry!" and a second later "Hermione!" made her already broken heart miss a beat.

_Maybe there still was hope?_

With unsteady legs, Molly Weasley ran downstairs.

_xxx_

Ginny Weasley was crying so hard that the skin around her eyes burned when new tears cascaded down her hollow cheeks.

Harry was gone.

Her family was destroyed.

She had no future.

And there was nothing she could do.

Remus's roar pierced her bleeding heart, and Ginny jumped up from the bed so quickly that she felt dizzy.

Holding the wall for support, she ran down stairs.

_Harry._

_xxx_

Hermione saw Remus race towards them, and she couldn't hold her tears any longer. They cascaded down her pale face, dropping onto Harry's bloody forehead, before running down in pale red spurts.

A second later, Remus was at their side.

He was now gently but urgently removing Harry from Hermione's tight hold.

"He's alive," Hermione whispered through tears.

Hermione saw amber eyes tear up before quickly capturing her gaze.

"What happened?"

Hermione would not know where to start even if she could speak.

"Is it destroyed?"

His voice was tight and those amber eyes looked desperate.

_He knows._

Lips dry and her mouth reminding her of the Sahara Desert, Hermione whispered a quiet but resolute "No".

Suddenly, Lupin lifted Harry's unmoving figure and started running towards the Burrow.

Hermione continued sitting on the ground, not being able to get up from the onslaught of emotions that were now suffocating her, her sobs making her shudder even harder.

The last three days have been the most horrible in her life. Hermione had never felt as much fear as she had during those last days. She had never felt so such tension. She had never wanted to wake up more.

Just wake up from this nightmare where she was Lord Voldemort's Horcrux who in one week would start attending a magical University under the same Dark Lord's supervision and find herself in the woods, in the tent.

_Anywhere but here._

Through tears, Hermione saw Ginny run out of the Burrow and run towards Lupin, her gaze not leaving Harry's bloodied figure for a second.

Molly appeared on the threshold, looking disheveled.

Hermione could see Molly rush towards her before she finally blacked out.

_xxx_

Remus Lupin was puzzled.

He was seriously and gravely concerned.

Something was wrong.

_Definitely wrong_, Remus thought, as he took in Harry's tortured form—_his pup was still unconscious_—and then looked at Hermione who was lying still on the sofa.

While Harry looked like he returned from a meeting with Lord Voldemort—_which was correct_— Hermione was completely another story.

Not only was her wand with her, but Hermione was also dressed like a proud pureblood witch who returned from a lesson with her private tutor instead of being in the company of a maniac Dark Lord and hordes of his Death Eaters.

Hermione had not been tortured, and there were no spells cast on her that left a trace.

_Not even one Crucio_.

_Harry's result came up with five._

It wasn't that Remus wasn't relieved that Hermione hadn't been harmed. He _was_. But it was just too suspicious.

Remus would have never paid attention to the ring on Hermione's finger had his inner wolf not shuddered in pleasure when he accidently touched it while checking over Hermione's unconscious body.

The ring oozed Dark Magic to someone with his 'condition'.

After pondering over what the ring was doing on Hermione's finger, Remus cast a Recognition spell on the golden band, and then he became really confused.

The Recognition spell told him that the ring was enchanted with _Vinculum Magica_—one of the magic- binding spells that created a bond between the caster and the wearer of the ring.

Such bonds were magically sealed, and there was nothing that could break them.

Only the one who put the ring on the finger could remove it.

Nowadays, such forms of binding magic were used very rarely not only because of its ultimate binding quality, but also because of the consequences that would befall on the one wearing such ring in case of failure.

There were different consequences, but the most brutal one was the loss of magic in favor of the castor.

It greatly concerned Remus.

It could only be Voldemort himself who had bound Hermione's magic and Remus did not like not knowing why.

_What did Voldemort want with Hermione?_

He needed to do some research, but as far as he could remember—_and memory was not his weak point_—there were five known binding bonds in the Wizarding and their appropriate colors always indicated just what type of a bond it was.

Red for a Marriage, blue for a Mentorship, green for a Spiritual illumination, yellow was the color of a Protector, and black for a Sex-slave bond.

And Hermione had purple.

Bright, shining purple.

It wasn't normal.

Xxx

Through the fog of unconsciousness, Hermione could hear familiar voices argue.

"The Horcrux needs to be destroyed!" A booming angry male voice.

_Kingsley._

"You will not touch Harry!" A high and desperate feminine voice.

_Ginny._

"Voldemort has to be the one to kill the Horcrux!" A gentler male voice.

_Mr. Weasley._

"We won't know what happened until at least one of them returns to consciousness!" Also angry but this one with an additional snarl.

_Lupin._

_Must be close to the full moon_.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked around.

There were so many people in the room, everyone arguing and agitated.

_They still don't know._

And for a second, Hermione wanted to lie, to just not say, to keep quiet.

Mr. Weasley's words were still ringing in her ears.

Hermione still did not understand just how she had survived the Killing Curse.

Was it because the Killing Curse divided between her and Harry?

Or because Harry pushed her back, forming some kind of protection around them?

And how did the Horcrux end up in her?

It all was a big mess in her head, and Hermione wished for just a few minutes alone.

Now, when she and Harry were back, Hermione needed to think. And read up.

But first, she needed to tell everything. She wouldn't lie.

_If she couldn't trust the Weasleys and the Order, then whom could she trust?_

_xxx_

Ginny was sitting in the kitchen with the rest of the Order, and not for the first time since hearing Hermione's story, she was thinking _why_.

_Why did everything have to go so wrong?_

As Hermione got to the point where she explained what Voldemort demanded from her in return to spare them, Ginny did not know what she felt. She wanted to scream.

Hermione was now Voldemort's charge with a piece of his soul—_his nasty, disgusting soul_—inside of her head. And that piece of shit could control her.

And Hermione was now going to magical University.

Ginny seriously did not know what to think.

On one hand, she wanted the Horcrux destroyed.

On the other, Ginny didn't want Hermione to die.

It was too complicated.

Her red, swollen eyes were watching every movement of Hermione's right hand, and the golden ring reflected from time to time the light rays of the evening sun from outside.

Where would Voldemort send Hermione to?

_Just what kind of a dark, gloomy hole it could be?_

Ginny had always wanted to go to University, but she knew that it was an impossible dream.

Magical Universities were notoriously expensive and closed-off. In total, Ginny could come up with maybe twelve universities in the whole magical world. There weren't many, and it was almost impossible to get accepted, the money issue aside.

Normally, it took two years to finish the education and become a Master of chosen Arts.

Ginny didn't think she'd want to swap places with Hermione, for she didn't even doubt just what type of Arts Hermione would be learning.

Voldemort was so predictable.

_xxx_

Hermione finished her story with a deep sense of self-hatred.

When she had said everything out loud, it sounded even worse than before.

Before Hermione could ponder on the fact that everyone was silent, her mind exploded with pain.

There were hands, trying to help; there were voices that sounded very concerned; but Hermione heard and felt nothing but pain, this horrible, burning pain that was now completely taking over her body.

The barrier was down, and before pain overwhelmed her senses, Hermione thought just what had the Dark Lord done now.

She screamed.

_xxx_

He was a patient man, he told himself for the tenth time, slowly turning the pages of an old tome.

He could wait.

He didn't have to do it now.

He would wait.

Suddenly slamming the book on the table, the Dark Lord got up from his comfortable chair and Apparated away.

He couldn't wait. He wanted it now.

_xxx_

Checking—_for what seemed to be hundredth time_—his immaculate spell work, Lord Voldemort circled around the golden bowl filled with human blood that he had previously put on the altar.

It had taken him almost a whole day to gather the ingredients—_some unknown Mudbloods were feeling very generous today_—and create this immense structure of the blackest Dark Magic he knew.

And that was saying something.

It was a risk, an unnecessary risk, and Lord Voldemort had to remind himself—_not for the first time_—just why was he risking so much.

He certainly didn't need this gamble now; everything was finally running smoothly.

He had everything he had ever wanted.

And still, he found himself in this Merlin forgotten cave with a basin full of blood taken only from the heart—_he hadn't even given a thought, not like he cared for those whose hearts he had to rip out_—and enormously magic-demanding, complicatedly structured rune.

He found the ritual in two separate Dark Arts tomes. He had read about it before, but he hadn't paid this particular ritual much attention.

He used to think that such ritual was an insane fantasy that had somehow found its place in between some really useful rites.

He used to think that it was just some art of madness.

And now he was the madman who would try to summon Death.

The books indicated that even if you had all three Deathly Hallows in your possession, it would still not grant you immortality or before unseen power, that it only meant that you accepted your mortality or some similar worthless sentiment. And that made you the Master of Death.

Now that was a children story.

The real story was hidden in the most obscure Dark Arts books he owned.

Voldemort had tried many spells with the Elder Wand and while the spells came out with more power, he still preferred his old wand. Not _that_ much difference.

The Elder Wand would betray its master without a second thought, and he had no need for the Resurrection Stone—_who would he be looking at? Dumbledore?_—or the Invisibility Cloak—_who would he be hiding from? Himself?_—and that is why he decided to try.

The books explained that if one wished to become a real Master of Death, one needed to return the Hallows to its rightful owner- the Death itself.

While Voldemort would have loved to think it all over one more time—_just to be sure_—he was too greedy, he wanted it all and he wanted it now.

So, he was now planning on returning all three Deathly Hallows and in return, he would get true immortality.

It was worth the risk.

His oversight with the now destroyed Horcruxes had shown him that even with so many pieces of his soul hidden all around Europe—_he_ _should have hidden them somewhere is Asia_—he wasn't safe.

Soaking the Cloak—_it interested him the least_—Voldemort kept a tight grip on his yew wand and prepared himself.

In case this whole adventure turned to be a disaster of apocalyptic proportions, he would still have his two Horcruxes.

He'd use the Mudblood then.

Taking a deep breath, Lord Voldemort dropped the Resurrection stone into the goblet and the blood inside the basin started to boil. Slowly, he added the Elder Wand and took a step back.

"_Exorior."_

The blood started to surge from the goblet, as if it were a fountain, and soon, the whole floor was soaked in dark red liquid. And it kept coming and coming, the cup now seemingly having no bottom.

Voldemort raised his wand when the blood from the floor suddenly formed a figure.

"Your magic is useless against me, mortal." The figure resembled a Dementor, and its voice was so bone-chilling that Voldemort almost shuddered.

_Shit._

He had summoned Death and he was defenseless, like a pathetic Muggle.

Voldemort would have mentally given himself a T for Troll—_like that amusing Mudblood_—but now was not the time for such dramatics.

He had never had anything else than Outstanding and he wasn't going to drop his standards.

This was going to be an "O".

He couldn't have made a mistake.

"I return you what is Yours." His voice was calm but sure.

The figure—_Death!_—drifted towards the cup and its bony hand peeked out from the enormous sleeve as it picked up all the Deathly Hallows with one hand now fully soaked in blood.

The figure seemed to pause before opening its mouth like a serpent and swallowing all three Hallows.

It was creepy even by Voldemort's standards.

And that was saying something.

"Then I shall return what is yours."

_Wait a minute…_

That wasn't in the books…

Just what kind of hole did he dig up for himself now?

With disbelieving eyes, he saw something rise from the cup.

_The fuck?!_

He was against cursing—_he wasn't some common riffraff_—but that was the only word that came to his mind as he watched the blood rise from the cup and form a small, illuminated ball.

And then one more.

And more.

And more.

And then they were all flying towards him now.

Voldemort raised his wand, demanding his magic to act, when the first ball entered his chest.

Before everything went white with pain, he heard Death's bone-chilling voice again.

"Unless you call for me, we shall never meet again."

And then, there was pain.

He screamed.

_xxx_

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subdued, and Lord Voldemort managed to pull himself up from the stone floor.

The first thing he noticed was that his magic was now raving, and he had never felt so powerful before.

The second thing he noticed was his hand.

With inhumanly fast wand movement, he transformed a stone into a mirror.

Looking at his reflection, Lord Voldemort brought one of his hands closer to his face and touched it.

It was real.

_Well, well, well …_

What did he say about his performance?

_Outstanding._

_xxx  
><em>

**Two days later.**

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes and closed the book she was currently reading.

She had been reading all the time, with almost no sleep and only taking a break to visit Ron and Harry. Her usually collected mind was a mess now.

The last two days had been hard to say the least.

After rolling on the kitchen floor in pain, she was brought upstairs into what used to be her and Ginny's room.

Hermione still had no clue what Voldemort had done to cause her—_him_—such pain, but whatever it was, she was sure as hell he didn't cut himself while shaving.

She had been experiencing triumph and almost euphoria the last day and it was driving her mad. After the barrier had fallen, she had felt such a range of emotions that Hermione could only describe its scale and intensity by calling it a _rainbow_.

Voldemort was like a rainbow_- _from red to violet, from triumph to fear- in a matter of seconds.

The Horcrux kept quiet and Hermione wondered if he had heard her ratio.

How would Voldemort react?

Would it be a cold, amused smile and maybe not even a warning, or would it be _"Crucio,_ Miss Granger"?

Tomorrow, she was supposed to return to the Dark Lord's _care_—_she didn't ask for the time!_—and she still had no clue how to activate the Portkey.

Everything was even worse that she had expected.

Ron was still in a coma and Madame Pomfrey—_the only Mediwitch that would still help them_—explained that the patient had to overcome the damage himself. There was nothing they could do, as only an accomplished Legilimens with vast knowledge in the Mind Arts could help push Ron's mind and, therefore, accelerate the recovery.

Had Professors Dumbledore or Snape been alive, Ron would have, most probably, been awake already. The only other Legilimens that could break the wall between Ron's mind and reality was Voldemort.

And Hermione did not want to think what Voldemort would do with Ron's mind.

Harry was semi-conscious, drifting between two worlds; Ginny was constantly by his side with Professor Lupin.

And with most members of the Order killed—_only Kingsley, Lupin, Tonks and the Weasleys remained_—there was not much they could do.

It was worse than she had ever imagined.

Putting the book on the empty bed—_Ginny now slept in Ron's room, on a couch_—Hermione tried to squash the hurt she was feeling.

Ever since she had told the Order everything she knew—_and especially after the whole floor-rolling episode_—everyone kept their distance.

_As if I have plague._

Straightening her normal clothes—_the new robes were hanging in the closet_—Hermione did her best to collect herself and opened the door.

It was dinner time.

_xxx  
><em>

Slowly chewing the meatloaf, Hermione looked around the table.

All Weasleys—except Ron and Fred—were present, as well as Lupin with Tonks and Kinglsey—the whole Order.

There were no words spoken about Voldemort or the Order's current plans—_for reasons Hermione had to bitterly accept_. Instead, everyone was engaged in a heated debate that concerned her further education.

Remus had spoken to her yesterday and he had expressed his concerns regarding her new ring and the bond behind it.

He also explained that unless she wanted to become Voldemort's magical slave, or lose her magic completely, she had to attend whatever University the Dark Lord had chosen.

And now, they were all discussing her probable Alma Mater.

"It could be anything." Ginny was now looking at Hermione with eyes full of compassion.

"It's most probably Fenriswolf or Manasa." Percy was twirling his fork, not looking at Hermione at all.

A German University that specialized in Dark Arts or an Indian University that was famous for its Necromancers.

_Wonderful._

"It could be the Russian Holod. They also have very heavy Dark Arts roots." Tonks looked at Hermione with pity written all over her pale face.

_A hellhole, in other words._

It seemed that no matter what university it would be, she'd end up studying Arts she hated.

_Did she mention she hated her life?_

"What if it's one of the Triangulum Universities?"

The silence that followed Remus' pensive question was defeating.

There were three universities in the magical world that formed a so-called elite triangle—one in Sweden, one in Italy, and one in China; they were all considered Grey Universities, as they had faculties for both Dark and Light Magic.

And they were the best.

Hermione hadn't even considered such a possibility when she did her research with the help of Mr. Weasley and Fleur.

Her doubts were cemented when Ginny's disbelieving voice cut through the silence.

"Triangulum? Why would You-Know-Who send Hermione to one of the Triangulum Universities? He hates her!"

Taking a deep gulp from her goblet, Ginny continued voicing her opinion.

"_Zhi-Shang_ charges over ten thousand galleon per year, _Kungliga Högskolan _is over twenty thousand galleon per year and don't get me started on _Illuminus_! There is just no way that You-Know-Who would spend so much money on Hermione's education," Ginny finished with a humph before catching Hermione's crestfallen expression. "I would be so happy for you, Hermione, but it's just not possible," Ginny finished with an apologizing note to her tone.

Ginny's brown warm eyes told Hermione that she had a good friend who would gladly listen to her.

In another life, Hermione would have given everything to attend any of the three mentioned Alma Maters, but now she could only dream.

She'd end up in some dirty, ominous hole.

_Just like she rightfully deserved._

The dinner was interrupted by a grey owl that swiftly flew in through the opened window and dropped a letter in Hermione's hands before just as quickly flying away.

With her heart in her throat, Hermione looked at the letter.

The envelope was white and the word _"Enjoy"_ was written in a cursive, but very elegant script that Hermione hadn't recognized.

Ginny's gasp of horror—_she recognized the handwriting!_—broke the silence and Hermione did not need any other indication of who was the sender.

Her destiny lay now in her hands, in the unopened envelope and Hermione was too scared to open it.

She'd prefer to guess some more.

"Hermione."

_Lupin._

"You have to open it, Hermione. Not knowing will not make it any easier," Remus said with compassionate amber eyes.

Everyone around the table looked at her with pity and Hermione wanted to cry.

_I want my mom!_

"I am afraid," Hermione confessed quietly, not sure if her voice would listen to her.

"We know, dear. We are here for you." Molly got up from her seat and came closer to Hermione, half hugging her, letting her know she was not alone.

Looking up at Molly's sad but determined face, Hermione took a deep breath and nodded slowly before opening the seal.

With shivering hands holding the light blue paper and disbelieving eyes roaming over the parchment, Hermione started to read.

x

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_You have been accepted into the Illuminus University of Magic._

_The semester begins on May the 11__th__ and we would like for you to arrive one day prior to finish your accommodation before the studies begin._

_All magical and official procedures have been completed and magically signed by your Guardian._

_The tuition fee as well as an additional fee for your accommodation have already been transferred._

_Enclosed is the list of necessary books and equipment._

_You will find your study specifications at the end of the letter._

_You must attend all __Approved__ Arts courses._

_The Arts that are __Not Approved__ will not be part of your curriculum._

_Looking forwards to having you as our student,_

_Dorius Darmus,_

_Headmaster of Illuminus University of Magic_

_Magical Venice, Italy_

_x_

Too shocked to breathe, Hermione quickly looked at the end of the letter.

_It's not possible._

There, she saw the rest of information and she wanted to cry.

x

_**University**_ : _Illuminus University of Magic_

_**University Qualification:**__ Triangulum University, First Rank_

_**Tuition fee:**__ 25,000 galleon per semester; 50,000 galleon per year_

_**Location**__**:**_ _Magical Venice, Italy_

_**Faculty**__**:**__Spell Creation_

_**Mastery:**__ Spells Architect_

_**Arts Approved**__:__ Archimancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, Transfiguration, Mind Arts, Potions, Astronomy_

_**Arts Not Approved:**_ _Divination, Magical Law, Dark Arts_

_**Please note that Approved/Not approved **__**depends **__**only **__**on the wishes of your Guardian.**_

_**Accommodation**__:__ deluxe apartment for 1 person, Magical Venice, Italy._

_**Accommodation fee:**__ 3,000 galleon per semester_

_**Illuminus University of Magic wishes you a great day!**_

Mouth dry and heart beating so fast that Hermione thought that if she leaned closer to the table it would start vibrating, she looked up at the shocked face of Molly Weasley who was now staring at the letter.

"What is it?" Ginny was the fastest, but Hermione could see that everyone around the table wanted to know just where Voldemort would send her.

Everyone felt sorry for her.

_Why would he do this?_

The letter was gently removed from her shivering fingers and Hermione watched everyone present hurl over as they read it.

What was she missing?

_Just what game was Voldemort playing at?_

Hermione wanted to say that it was a joke, but then she had to close her mouth before she could make it any worse.

She was terrified of what she saw when everyone looked at her.

Doubt.

_How_ _could_ _they doubt __**me**__?_

Distrust.

_If you cannot trust __**me**__, then __**whom**__ can you trust?!_

Hermione tried to write off their distrust and doubt on the Horcrux, but there was something else in their gazes and facial expressions that held her gaze even if she wanted to look away and just not have to see it.

Envy.

_No …_

_I didn't know!_

_I don't know why! _Hermione wanted to scream in her defense, but she thought she knew why.

She was his Horcrux.

Voldemort had told her himself that she was just his Horcrux's vessel and one did not spend so much money on the vessel.

What Lupin had told her about the ring had been confirmed by numerous books and Hermione had no intention in becoming a Squib. Voldemort wasn't demanding anything extraordinary nor was he telling her to torture someone. He wasn't doing anything bad.

And that was frightening.

She felt peculiar.

_Did he really tell the truth?_

She needed to crack this puzzle—the whats, the whys and the hows.

"What games is You-Know-Who playing at? " Ginny was standing with her hands on her hips and her lips were pursed.

Hermione saw Ginny look around before coming closer and laying a hand on her shoulder.

"You-Know-Who is trying to make you look bad, Hermione. He wants us to think that you have made some sort of a deal with him. It won't work." Ginny's eyes were sympathetic and Hermione found herself fighting her tears that demanded to be released.

Clasping a hand over her trembling lips, Hermione got up from the chair and quickly ran upstairs.

_Now she knew why._

_He was a monster._

_xxx_

It was past midnight and Hermione was sitting on the brim of a very sharp-looking cliff, with whirlpool waves crashing on its piercing edges just below her feet.

Before Hermione could drown in her despair and hurt inside her bedroom, she was pulled by her navel and was Apparated away. She didn't know where she was, but wherever she was, she was alone.

There was not much space on the cliff and no places were available as a hideout. She was on a cliff in the middle of a raging ocean and she was alone.

The feeling was peculiar—it was incredibly frightening to be so near the danger, but it was so liberating to just sit here and watch.

_Observe and think._

The warming charms held her warm and the newly-Transfigured hood protected her head from the brutal winds but did not block the mesmerizing view.

Hermione had never seen anything like that before.

It was-

"_**Magical,"**_ a serpentine voice offered from just behind her ear, and Hermione found herself unintentionally jumping up and losing her balance.

The ocean was even more furious than before, and Hermione had to wonder why the surface wasn't approaching when she felt the additional weight around her middle.

She was tightly held from behind and she could not feel the cliff under her feet anymore, Hermione realized with fear quickly spreading all over her body.

The Dark Lord was holding her with one hand over the deep abyss and all Hermione could see were the clashing waves hunting each other in an endless circle.

Her heart was in her heels and she could feel the fear take over completely.

She was terrified.

Hermione didn't know what was worse—the black abyss or the strong hand around her waist in a death grip.

"_**There is nothing to be afraid of, if you know what separates you from them." **_Voldemort's voice was quiet and silky, and Hermione shivered—from fear, from the close proximity, and from the truth that she didn't know_ what_.

_Did he mean the waves or …_

His hand was the only thing that held her from falling into the now boiling water, and Hermione doubted that the Dark Lord would accept such answer.

Suddenly, the water surface smoothed over and the moon's perfect reflection on the now glassy surface took her breath away.

Hermione forgot all about the hand around her waist and the problems of her complicated life and just watched in awe and reverence as the water crystalized and hardened.

"_**Being special is not a sin. It's a sin not to be."**_

Hermione wanted to reply that she wasn't special when the ocean of crystals began _to burn_. The waters boiled and Hermione could feel the heat of the rising inferno that was quickly spreading its wild, bright red tentacles—_ike an Octopus rubescens!_—absorbing the crystals with unimaginable ease and turning them into pure fire.

"_**If you are afraid to fly, you fall."**_

The inferno suddenly disappeared and Hermione saw an enormous hole where the water—and later fire—used to be.

_It was insanity!_

A distant whistling sound made Hermione look up and her heart stopped.

The waves were now back and they were curling above their heads—_in the air!_—and Hermione unintentionally leaned closer to the body behind her before remembering who exactly it was and recoiling quickly.

Voldemort was behind her, the abyss in front and below her, and the water masses above.

She was trapped.

"_**Maybe, I am not meant to fly,"**_ Hermione whispered with frozen lips, panic suffocating her mind.

There was nowhere to go.

The hand tightened its hold, gripping her almost painfully before suddenly pushing her forwards.

"_**Then you fall."**_

Hermione screamed.

She was falling.

_xxx_

The hole's endless bottom was quickly approaching and Hermione thought that those were her last seconds. She was going to crash to death because Voldemort had actually pushed her off the cliff and into the abyss—_Horcrux or no Horcrux_—just like he had said.

Looking at the approaching rocky ground, Hermione closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall.

There was nothing she could do.

Hermione's eyes snapped open when she remembered about the wand in her hand.

_She had her magic!_

And then she was floating, looking down at the ground with yet another tight hold around her middle.

_He was flying without a broom!_

_**She**__ was in the air without a broom!_

Hermione had to remind herself how to breathe when the words were whispered into her mind.

'_**What separates you from them?'**_

Hermione understood that if she answered incorrectly—or refused to answer—she would be dropped and her wand would not help her.

This was a special lesson the Dark Lord was teaching her and if she failed to learn, he would get rid of her.

'_**Magic.'**_

Hermione heard—_felt_—the Dark Lord chuckle.

"_**Are you meant to fly now?"**_

She licked her dry lips before whispering in her mind.

'_**Yes.'**_

The water started to returned to the ocean and Voldemort soared into the night sky before Apparating in the air.

_xxx_

Hermione landed on her ass and cried from the hard impact.

_Ouch!_

Looking around, she saw that she was in her room in the Burrow—_alone!_—and for a second, Hermione thought that she had simply passed out—_it was her imagination!_—but the pain in her bottom and the fresh smell of ocean that still lingered on her clothes, reminded her that it hadn't been a dream.

_Oh my god!_

Still speechless, Hermione felt a presence in her mind whisper _**"Six o'clock" **_before fully withdrawing and leaving her head.

The barrier suddenly became visible, and Hermione, still shocked—_each time she thought that Voldemort could not shock her more and each time he proved her wrong_—had to admit she hadn't even noticed when the Dark Lord had cast the spell.

On shaking legs, Hermione got up and fell onto her bed.

Her mind was going to turn off now from the pure shock of today's events.

Holding her wand in her hand—_just in case_—Hermione closed her eyes and begged for sleep to come.

Her mind needed the rest.

That night, she dreamt of a raging inferno, the crashing waves, the bottomless abyss, and the hand holding her from falling.

And in her dream, she wasn't afraid.

_xxx_

_AN: Well, do you like Voldemort's choice for Hermione? :) _


	9. Hermione's Boggart

_A/N: Thank you for the alerts and favorites.  
><em>

_Mrs V, thank you for your review and your question. Google Translate helped out as I, unfortunately, do not speak Portuguese at all :(  
><em>

_For me, Voldemort is more dangerous when he looks human_—_beauty gives him additional power. Tom Riddle was a very handsome young man, after all. And I'm, probably, shallow. I like him pretty :)_

_Your comments and reviews are highly appreciated. I am not asking for reviews to strike my ego, but because I want to become a better writer. And because I am honestly interested in your opinion. _

_This story has now a book cover thanks to the amazing Ibuzoo! :)_

_Beta: amazing Serpent In Red _

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Nine

**_One month later._**

Hermione put her bag on the table, and with a sigh, she dropped herself into her favorite chair.

She was so tired!

While the University was even better than in the books, it was also harder than Hermione had ever imagined.

For the first semester, she had only Archimancy, Transfiguration, and Charms to study, but the amount of books she had to read and the level of the lectures were so high, that Hermione, for the first time in her life, was not ahead of the studied topics—she was almost behind.

With eyes closed, Hermione kicked her shoes off and stretched her legs.

The weather was hot and moist, and Hermione had never been more thankful for the Cooling Charms.

Had it not been for them, she was sure her apartment would resemble a Finnish sauna—hot, steaming, and impossible to stay long in. Her apartment was spacious with one bedroom, a study, a huge bathroom, and a large and airy lounge.

The first time Hermione had seen it, her only thought was that it was her dream come true. The apartment was exactly as she would have chosen herself.

The windows were facing the sunny side, allowing Hermione the most gorgeous view of the narrow water channels and the old, but so perfect, buildings that stood on both sides of the main river. The sun was reflected on the water, and Hermione pondered for a second if maybe she should go for a swim. It was June and the temperatures in the whole Europe were abnormally high. Magical Venice—a hidden magical part directly in the center of Muggle Venice—had the most beautiful beaches with soft, white sand and slightly curling, light waves.

Hermione rubbed her nose as she looked at the clock—there were still two hours available before Ginny was supposed to come over using the Order enchanted Portkey that would immediately transfer the owner away from Hermione in case the Horcrux woke up—and clicking her tongue, Hermione retrieved her swimming suit from her bedroom and quickly changing into a light dress—_her university uniform was just too heavy and warm_—she closed the door to her apartment and slowly walked to the beach, enjoying every second of it.

Venice was the most beautiful city Hermione had ever seen—magical or Muggle.

The warm breeze picked up a strand of her long hair that had fallen from the tight bun and twirled it in the air before letting it fall onto her face, tickling her nose.

With a smile, Hermione let her hair loose, allowing the wind to play with it like it wished.

Today was a good day.

_xxx_

"Yeah, and that's all there is to tell, " Ginny finished with a sigh as she eyed the delicious food on the table. She had already eaten more that she had imagined was possible and her stomach felt so full that Ginny could only eat with her eyes now. Or she'd explode.

"Is there anything I could do?" Hermione was sitting opposite of Ginny, who was now lying on the sofa, reminding her of a satisfied cat with a belly full of tasty food.

"Thank you, Hermione. But you know my mom. She won't take the money no matter how you ask." The redhead had her feet on the armrest and her head on three huge pillows. "She says we're not a charity and we'll manage on our own. Don't ask me how."

Hermione leaned back into her comfortable bright-red chair and took a sip from her wineglass.

One month had passed and nothing really changed.

The Weasleys were struggling to meet the ends as none of them could find a stable job. Ron was still in a coma and Harry was slowly making progress. Remus and Tonks came often, but mostly, they stayed with Andromeda, who helped to take care of their little Teddy.

After the start of her studies, Hermione had been to the Burrow three times—two Saturdays and one Sunday.

On her second visit to the Burrow, Harry was conscious and they had talked for long hours—discussing everything that had happened and would happen. While Hermione had been initially very scared to face her best friend, it went better than she had expected. She still felt as guilty as one could feel, but the guilt wasn't suffocating her every passing moment now.

Harry didn't blame her for what had happened in the Forest, nor was he angry or suspicious about her studying. Harry was Harry and Hermione—not for the first time—thanked the heavens for her friends.

Everyone from the Order had talked to her privately and every one of them had reassure Hermione that she had their full support. They were proud of her.

She didn't know what she would do if she didn't have their support.

It had been one month since Hermione had started her studies at the Illuminus University and she did not even notice the time fly.

She was so busy all the time. She had so much to learn—when Voldemort had told her that it would not be a walk in the park for her, he hadn't been joking.

During the first week, Hermione had barely found the time to sleep, as the level of studies was way above OWLs and Hermione had to give her all just to keep up.

She was studying all the time and her library was now full with enormous tomes on different aspects of magic.

At first, Hermione was very hesitant to use the money from her new vault—_provided by Voldemort, of course_—but as time went by, she simply had to accept the fact that if she did not want to fail, she had to use the Dark Lord's money for books, test materials, and basically everything—her food and clothes included.

With her parents Obliviated, Hermione had no income, and while at first she wanted to take a part-time job, after the first week, Hermione had to admit that there was no way she could study and work simultaneously.

"What is that?" Ginny's curious tone made Hermione stop her musings ,and she looked at her friend who was now holding a folded piece of paper, reading silently.

"Oh … Those are the questions that I have," Hermione answered a bit sheepishly. There were a minimum fifty questions written there and she had never imagined just how shallow her knowledge of magic had been.

"Whoa … What is the difference between _Amperia Motus_ and _Amperia Vileo_ when using a sub-category of Arithmancy defined and Charms specified syllable modification?" Ginny read all the while producing gagging noises. "Is that English?"

Hermione smiled at her friend's antics and offered the redhead more wine.

Giggling, Ginny took the goblet before reading one more question.

"Why do you need to use a combination of _'i-u'_ instead of _'a-u'_ when creating a Rune with the help of level BA Transfiguration spells? What language is it? I cannot even read the question without breaking my brain-cells!" Ginny exclaimed while waving the paper in front of the now also giggling Hermione.

"And who are you going to ask all those questions? Your Transfiguration or Charms professors? Or them all?"

Ginny asked while helping herself with another glass of wine and only Hermione's silence made her look up.

"Hermione?"

Ginny tentatively got up from her couch and crouched near her friend.

"What's wrong? Did I say something stupid?" Her voice filled with concern as Hermione remained silently sitting in her chair, the wine goblet forgotten on the table.

"No, no, Ginny. You didn't do anything wrong," Hermione quickly assured the redhead before smiling a sad smile. "Those questions are not for my professors," she explained with eyes cast down and Ginny finally understood.

"They're for _Him_, aren't they?"

A silent nod.

Ginny pursed her lips before sitting on the armrest of the chair that Hermione occupied.

"How … how has he been treating you?"

With a deep breath, Hermione got up from the chair and beckoned Ginny to come with her.

Opening the doors to the balcony, Hermione stepped outside, enjoying the warm sun before leaning on the parapet.

"When I went to meet him that day—" Hermione looked at Ginny to see her nod in understanding. "—he had told me that if I have any questions study related, then I am free to ask him for help. He said that I can turn to him with any question—as long as it's logical and well thought—and if it concerns magic."

It was still hard for her to accept his help, but if she didn't, she'd be out of the University faster than one could say "I can do it on my own".

She needed Voldemort's knowledge and it was driving her mad.

"He always explains everything that is still unclear to me. I have to read and study on my own, but once a week, I can ask him anything study related and he—" Hermione was looking Ginny straight in the eyes. "—helps. He is the Dark Lord who kills even for breathing the wrong way in his presence, but he had never punished me. I don't know what's going on, Ginny." Hermione now had her head between her hands and was breathing heavily.

Either the Dark Lord was bipolar or he had something very unpleasant in his sleeve.

Voldemort would reinforce the Occlumency shield every three days when Hermione visited him in Malfoy Manor. He would take her questions—_they had to be written down!—_and after crossing out at least half of them—_he actually accused her of being lazy once!_—the Dark Lord would go through them all until there was nothing left unclear.

They had never talked about anything that wasn't study-related and Hermione did not know what to think.

Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, Ginny said quietly, "Me neither. But whatever it is, just be happy he doesn't torture you. "

Harry still could not walk after the Dark Lord's torture session—his back was damaged, but luckily not permanently—and Hermione had to agree with Ginny's accretion.

"By the way, tell me, does he still wears his hood up all the time?" Ginny was now sitting on the railings, her back to the gorgeous view and her now twinkling eyes looking at Hermione's crouched form.

"And the gloves," Hermione's good mood seemed to have returned as she heard Ginny giggle in response.

"Probably messed up with some Dark Arts ritual and now looks even worse. That is, if that's possible at all!"

Hermione didn't try to hide her amused smile.

While she highly doubted Voldemort would mess up anything_—he was an even bigger perfectionist and know-it-all than her!_—Hermione decided not to voice her thoughts.

It was true that the Dark Lord had been wearing a black robe with a spacious hood that had covered all his face ever since her lesson on the cliff; the black leather gloves were also fully covering his hands.

And while Hermione had been very curious as to what the Dark Lord had done with his looks now, she hadn't dared to ask.

Voldemort had told her the first time she came to him after the cliff "lesson" that there would be no talking except for the topic of her studies and Hermione knew better than to ask him why.

She still knew nothing about his reasoning for sending her to Illuminus and his choice of Spells Architect as her Mastery and Hermione could only guess.

She saw him every three days—the Mind Arts would start the next semester—and not once did the Dark Lord remove his hood, his cloak, or his gloves.

At first, it had been weird talking to a hood instead of those creepy red eyes on the ugly serpentine face, but with time, Hermione got used to it.

Now, if she had to be honest with herself, she started associating The Hood with her—_dare she say it?—_mentor, while the serpentine face belonged purely to Lord Voldemort.

"The Hood"—_Hermione didn't doubt that the Dark Lord knew how she was addressing him when not in his presence—_was calm, collected, and so very smart. He was so damn knowledgeable that it was sickening.

_Know-It-All!_ Hermione had called him once in her mind while still in his presence and "Unlike some" was the only response. No Crucio, no mental lashing, just a small but correct jab.

"The Hood" had only several rules when they had their "study-session":

She had to be respectful.

_As if she had a choice._

Not to ask stupid questions.

Not to ask questions that she already knew answers to.

_It was hard to control herself sometimes, but Hermione did her best not to anger him._

Not to cheat.

_She would never!_

To write down all her questions and he would check them over once a week.

To send him all her test results.

_So far, she had none and it was such a relief!_

Not to be lazy and give her all.

_Hermione Granger and lazy did not belong together!_

The Dark Lord explained that as her Guardian, he would also supervise all her practical work and her mid-term projects.

So far, everything went well.

"The Hood" knew everything and his calm but sure manner in which he explained the unclear topics made Hermione silently ponder on the fact that he was the best teacher she had ever met.

And that wasn't good.

Only one month into her studying, Hermione wasn't scared of "the Hood" anymore, but she was very wary of the Lord Voldemort.

"How's the mini-Mort? Still silent?"

While Hermione had referred to the Horcrux as The Thing, Ginny had started calling it "Mini-Mort" and Hermione found herself in tears from laughing each time.

The Horcrux had been behaving so far, and Hermione had to say life looked better than she had expected.

"Yes," she replied while searching for something inside her bottomless bag.

Ginny had to leave already—_seven o'clock in the evening!_—as Molly did not wish for her only daughter to stay for a night with only a Horcrux-controlled friend as company in another city and Hermione tried to tell herself she understood.

And she had to go meet Voldemort.

Taking out a small bag filled with galleons, Hermione approached the now silent Ginny.

"No, Hermione, I cannot." The redhead had her lips pursed, and her eyes were downcast as Hermione silently offered the money.

"Ginny, please. Please take it. I cannot do anything else and I need to help, please." Hermione was now begging, and Ginny's face was red with embarrassment.

"It's _His_ money, Hermione. I cannot," Ginny whispered while tightly hugging a now crying Hermione.

"You study hard, you study well, and then, when Harry is better and Ron is awake, we'll destroy You-Know-Who. Be strong!" Ginny was now crying, too, and Hermione hugged her friend harder.

"Be careful, Ginny. Tell Harry and everyone to be careful, too, promise? "

At Ginny's silent nod, Hermione added, "I'll come over soon" before Ginny touched her emergency Portkey that was hanging around her neck and was gone.

Taking a shower and dressing properly, Hermione took her synopsis and the folded paper filled with this week's questions and placed her wand into the wand-holster.

She did not need her wand to activate her Portkey.

Checking the time—_three minutes to eight_—Hermione licked her lips and concentrating on a snake's image in her mind, whispered the hated password to the ring.

"_**Morsmordre!"**_

That day it had taken Hermione only a few seconds to guess the password—_what else would the Dark Lord choose?_—and now every three days, she had to say it out loud in Parseltongue.

She didn't like it.

A minute later, Hermione felt the ring heat up, and then, she was gone.

_xxx_

**Two months later.**

**Beginning of September**

"It is not a failure!" Hermione's agitated but passionate voice filled the spacious oval room.

_It was all his fault!_

He did not have to provoke her; he didn't need to be so arrogant and stuck-up!

Maybe yes, she was just a student, and she had only started learning the true art of magic, but she wasn't stupid. She was a smart witch, and she had already started getting really appreciated by the professors. It had been so strange to have attention of professors during the lecture, to have someone appreciate that you wanted to learn and, in return, wanted to teach you.

It was a dream come true for Hermione's intellectual mind. And someone was now insulting it by calling her simple and dull!

Her practical Charms exam for the half-semester was now lying on the glass table between their chairs.

And it was a failure.

Or so Voldemort had said.

He said it was an amusing, but nonetheless a crushing failure.

He said she was a naïve little girl and she had a lot to learn if she wanted this "waste of magic" to function.

Was it a joke of sorts?

"When I say you're going to get a T for Troll for this hilarious little projects of yours, I mean it seriously, little girl."

"But sir, you have just seen it with your own eyes. Why is it a failure then?"

Hermione's voice was defiant, but she could not hold the hurt out of it.

"Is it because I am a Mudblood?"

Hermione was sure he was smiling now.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what do you think about my decision to remove the Dark Arts from your curriculum?" His voice sounded intrigued and Hermione noted a hint of mockery.

What did his decision have to do with her project?

"I am … thankful for that, sir. I have no desire to study the Dark Arts." Hermione answered honestly.

_Not like she could lie._

"And why is that, Miss Granger?" His voice now had a curious undertone, and Hermione wished for the millionth time that she could use their connection to decipher his emotions or at least see his eyes.

"Because the Dark Arts are gruesome, horrible and well … dark," Hermione answered stubbornly.

Maybe not all Dark Arts were so bad, but there was no way she'd study them.

"And that is the reason why you fail. Not because you're a Mudblood but because you're a hypocritical and prudish Mudblood," Voldemort said lightly as he rose from his seat and walked to the windows.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's voice had enough disbelief and incredibility for Voldemort to turn towards her as he laughed.

"Don't like the truth, do we?"

"I am not a hypocrite nor am I a prude!" Hermione voiced her inner outrage.

_How dare he?_

"_Crucio."_

As sharp, piercing pain took over her body, Hermione found herself thrashing on the floor under the most intense Torture Curse she had ever felt.

"_That_ is not study-related." Voldemort walked over to her thrashing form on the ground, and as he lifted the curse, he placed his shoe-clad foot onto her cheek, pressing her head into the floor.

"Don't forget your place, little Mudblood." The shoe pressed harder, and Hermione was afraid that it might crush her cheekbones.

Still panting from the pain and the horrible pressure on her face, Hermione gasped for air.

"I dare because I am the Dark Lord. And you better not forget about it." The voice was cold and had a hissing quality to it, but it was still English. "And if you forget, it will be my pleasure to remind you."

Her lips were dry and Hermione tasted blood in her mouth.

_Probably bit my tongue during the torture._

This was the first time the Dark Lord had raised his wand at her, and Hermione found herself hoping that it would also be the last time.

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you, Miss Granger—" The shoe-clad foot was removed from her face as the Dark Lord slowly walked back to his chair. "—but do try."

Hermione kept lying on the floor, her muscles and bones hurting like hell, making it impossible to get up.

"When you're done drooling on the floor, try the tea." Voldemort's voice was once again amused and mocking. "I find this selection to be simply delicious."

Holding her thoughts with an iron grip—_otherwise, she'd spend the whole night under his curses_—Hermione managed to bring her now heavy body on her knees and hands. She needed time to get up.

_How am I going to attend my studies tomorrow?_

"You're such a drama queen, Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she was almost gaping at the hooded figure of the Dark Lord.

_Drama queen?!_

"It's just one small Crucio. The Boy Wonder had the pleasure of enjoying it for many hours and you don't see him complaining, do you?"

Hermione's breath hitched as she tried not to voice her thoughts even in her mind, but it seemed that her outrage at the Dark Lord's carefree words was too powerful.

_That bastard!_

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger." Voldemort crossed his feet and his wand was now trained at her again. "Maybe the Cruciatus is not for your taste. Let's see if you react better to this."

Hermione braced herself and looked at Voldemort's wand tip that was now pulsating with bright blue light.

"_Avergario."_

Hermione waited for the pain to come and was deeply surprised when none appeared.

_What was this spell supposed to do?_

Hermione watched as Voldemort leaned back in his chair, and with his gloved hand, he picked up his cup of tea. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

Just as she was about to inform him that his spell had failed, Hermione found out she could not feel her body.

_What?_

It was almost like a Petrificus Totalus, but Hermione doubted that the Dark Lord would choose something as harmless as the Full Body-Bind Curse.

What did _Avergario_ do? She had never heard of it before.

Suddenly, Hermione saw something move from the darkened corner of the room and glide towards her immobile figure.

With horrified eyes, she saw another hooded figure stop directly in front of her and then the hood was down.

Hermione was looking at herself—_it could not be anyone else!_—but her doppelganger's eyes were red with snake-like pupils and the face was exactly like Voldemort's—grey, serpentine, and no nose.

_My God!_

The only indication that Hermione hadn't mistaken the identity of this _thing_ was her facial structure, the bushy hair that hung in dirty strands, and her own wand clasped tightly in the bone-white hand. Hermione wished to move away from the creature when its hand clasped her hair in a tight grip, and she found herself completely immobile. She could only watch.

"I killed Harry Potter!" Her serpentine face was illuminated with a horrible smile, showing her rotten but sharp, yellow teeth.

"I killed Won-Won!" A forked tongue appeared between the yellow teeth, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to move away from it, but a second later, she felt the tongue lick her cheek.

Shuddering inwardly in disgust, Hermione voiced her plea in her mind, knowing that it would be heard anyway.

'_Please, stop.'_

The Dark Lord made no move, as he simply sat there, watching her torture session.

She was sure he was smiling.

Her lips were suddenly bit by her doppelganger's sharp teeth, and Hermione would have vomited had it not been for the spell holding her immobile.

"Don't you dare ask our Lord about anything, you little piece of shit!" Her own eyes were staring at Hermione, their abnormal red color shining in the dim light; the voice was so deranged and fanatical that even Bellatrix Lestrange sounded normal compared to _her._

Hermione wanted the Cruciatus instead of this.

"_**He's mine."**_ The creature licked Hermione's lips with the forked tongue and then pushed it into her mouth, tasting her.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was possible to pass out from disgust, but she was very close to it.

"_**Only I can ask him. Only I can have him." **_The hissing coming out of its mouth was barely a whisper, so low and so passionate, and Hermione wanted to gag.

The creature's forked tongue kept moving inside her mouth, and Hermione felt the tears pool in her eyes, unable to fall down.

"_**He's my everything."**_ The doppelganger finally removed the disgusting tongue from her mouth and moved closer to Voldemort, bowing so deep that its mutilated head was lying on the floor just before Voldemort's crossed feet.

'_**Please, stop!**_' Hermione screamed in her mind so loud that she felt the barrier vibrate for a second.

"Is something the matter, Miss Granger?" The Dark Lord was now laughing silently and Hermione knew that it was not the end.

The creature rose from its bowing position on the floor and started undressing before the seated figure.

Hermione could only watch in horror as her now naked doppelganger bowed again, standing on all fours.

"_**Only I am allowed to be fucked by him! Only I!"**_ The serpentine face was twisted in a grimace of pure lust, desire, and unraveled fanaticism.

Hermione fought to breathe, but she was failing, as dark spots started to dance in front of her eyes. Hermione wished she'd pass out now.

"_**I am His! Only His!"**_

Hermione's mind was slowly shutting down, and through the fog of almost-unconsciousness, she heard Voldemort laugh.

"You truly are amusing, little Mudblood. And your Boggart is even more so."

Hermione saw her doppelganger—_her Boggart!_—disappear with a wave of the Dark Lord's wand, and she fell to the floor, her limbs trembling and tears blurring her vision.

_It was her boggart!_

Her biggest fear was …

Hermione choked on her tears and started coughing, her mind in shambles and her body trembling.

Hermione didn't even hear the Dark Lord get up from his chair when she saw two black polished shoes in front of her eyes.

Voldemort was now squatting before her, his leather-gloved hand holding her chin between a thumb and an index finger, making her look up at his hooded face.

"Your little project is a failure because you used _Seratio_ and _Vigela_ binding spells." His voice was silky and low as he slowly moved his thumb on her cheek.

_What?_

Hermione was still shivering from the horrible experience, and she could only stare at him, not even able to move her face from his gentle but firm grip.

Her mind still not fully recovered, Hermione thought why she couldn't use those two spells.

_They were the most stable and powerful charm-binding spells!_

"And what category of magic do they belong to?" His thumb was now making slow, sensual circles on her moist cheek.

Hermione wanted to crawl away from him, to not feel his touch—_even through a glove_—but found herself unblinkingly staring at the place where his eyes would be under the hood.

_Category? They were just binding spells!_

"_Seratio_ and _Vigela _are considered to be Dark Arts, Miss Granger."

Hermione wanted to deny it, to say he was wrong, but somehow, she felt he wasn't lying.

"And since you so furiously deny the power that is the Dark Arts, you will not be using them at all."

His thumb lingered on her bottom lip, and Hermione fought with her instincts to not just bite him.

"You can try, little girl. But don't cry when you will be forced to pay for your actions." Voldemort's other hand wiped the tears from under her lashes, and Hermione swallowed her turmoil.

"Redo your little project. I won't accept it before you replace those two spells." With that, the Dark Lord's leather gloved fingers pinched her cheek painfully before releasing her completely.

A second later, a silver goblet—_her project_!—landed in her lap.

"You are dismissed."

Before Hermione could say anything, she was pulled by her navel and Portkeyed away.

_xxx_

_A/N I'll be time-jumping now, not every chapter, but I seriously don't think you want to read about every single day in details. I'm open to suggestions ;)_


	10. The Hood

_Hi all!_

_See, how fast I can update? Considering I write each chapter from scratch, I'd say I'm pretty quick with the updates. Cool, no? ;)_

_I do my best when I write the story, and it is really nice to know if the story is appreciated or not. _

_Thank you for your alerts and favorites._

_Mega thank you to everyone who decided to review._

_ - thank you and here's a fast update :)_

_Paula Forever- you blew me away with your lengthy insightful comment. You're awesome! Thank you!_

_Mrs. V- Thank you again :) When you have Google Translate, the language is no longer a barrier. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. It's Extra Voldemortish ;)_

_Dear Guest- Thank you for such a nice review. I usually reply by PM, but since I couldn't- I'll say thank you here :) _

_If you're interested, there is a melody that I believe- or hope- will represent this story. The music is much better than my writing, but I do my best._

_I'll stop my ramblings as I hate long ANs._

_Music theme: Two Steps From Hell by Nero (no copyright intended)  
><em>

_Beta: Serpent in Red_

_Enjoy._

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

**Two weeks later**

**19****th**** September**

Looking at the proud brown owl that was sitting in a golden cage on a perch inside her room, Hermione opened the envelope and retrieved a single piece of paper.

A small smile appeared on her face.

_Use it wisely._

She could now talk more frequently to her friends, and an owl was a nice companion. And it _was_ a gift, the hidden meaning aside. _She wasn't an owl and her cage wasn't golden._

She still had mixed feelings regarding the whole boggart incident, but at least now, she stopped blushing in Voldemort's presence. Ever since her boggart had done _that _in front of the Dark Lord, Hermione found an unwelcomed blush creep up her cheeks every time she went to see him.

Reaching her hand towards the proud bird, Hermione started their first conversation.

"Hello, beautiful."

It was a good day.

_xxx_

**Beginning of October**

After finally accepting the fact that she could not study to be a Spells Architect without also studying the Dark Arts, Hermione had found the guts to approach the Dark Arts Professor.

Professor Alpheus Caelius was an older man, somewhere around Dumbledore's age, and he looked so harmless, so aerial that the first time Hermione had seen him, she'd thought he teached Divinations instead of the notorious Dark Arts.

While Voldemort resembled the Emperor—with his voluminous hood and majestic robes—then Professor Caelius reminded Hermione of a taller Yoda, and there was nothing she could do to get rid of such Star Wars themed association.

Hermione hoped Voldemort would have been amused and not pissed if he knew who the Emperor was.

_They would understand each other before Voldemort would off the Sith Lord because according to Him, there could be only one Dark Lord, and he did not share._

_What was she thinking?_

Lately, Hermione caught herself on the thoughts that Voldemort's constantly raised hood started to really bother her.

Hermione lingered in the dimly illuminated hallway before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door of Professor Caelius' office.

The old Professor happily agreed to explain what his course was about when he heard her name.

"I was wondering when you would come to me, Miss Granger." His voice was wise and patient, like a true teacher, but Hermione noticed he looked a bit different that before.

His eyes shone with sharp curiosity and barely tamed excitement now when usually he looked to be _absent_ most of the time.

"Professor Caelius, may I ask why you believed I would come to you?" Hermione inquired politely while putting two sugars into her cup and lifting the tea to her lips.

Scalding heat washed over her mouth, and Hermione almost spat it out before swallowing quickly.

_Dammit, it hurts!_

Her tongue and throat burned, and Hermione could not feel her mouth anymore.

Her eyes watered.

The old Professor was now standing near her, his old wrinkled hand on her shoulder and his apologizing but smiling face was bent closer to her.

"Are you alright, my dear? I hope the tea wasn't too hot."

He was sincere, and Hermione smiled in return, her burnt tongue moving with difficulty.

"Oh, I am so happy you finally came to me, Miss Granger. I have been waiting since the day I saw you, hoping you would visit the old Professor soon. And now, you're here."

Swiftly, Professor Caelius cast a healing spell on her tongue, and a second later, there was no trace of the incident left.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione thanked sincerely before frowning in question.

"I am sorry, Professor Caelius, but why were you expecting _me_?"

Why would a pureblood, hundred and twenty years old Dark Arts Professor from Illuminus University of Magic wait for her?

"But how could I not?" Professor Caelius smiled before pointing to her right hand that was now holding a cup filled with warm tea, the golden band on her index finger slightly gleaming.

"How could I not notice it? Your ring bears the signature of the caster, and trust me, Miss Granger, _that_ signature I'd recognize anywhere," he explained with an air of dotage, and Hermione's eyes widened in realization.

_He knows Voldemort._

"I see, Professor."

Which should have been logical, but for some reason, Hermione had never thought about it.

Her Dark Arts Professor knew Lord Voldemort, and apparently, he was also a fan.

_Wonderful._

What was she supposed to say? Hermione didn't even know if anyone was aware of just _who_ her guardian was.

Well, at least she didn't have to ask if he would accept her late registration to his classes and allow her to participate in the studies next semester.

After the whole fiasco with her first practical exam, Hermione had to finally accept that she needed the knowledge provided by—_and the possibility to cast_—the Dark Arts. She didn't have to take the course next year, as it wasn't her mastery, but she had to learn Dark Arts for one semester. She wouldn't go crazy in one semester, would she?

Hermione didn't say anything to Harry or the Order, and she wasn't planning on sharing this little detail anytime soon.

_What they don't know can't hurt them._

And she still hadn't told Voldemort.

Hermione didn't want to imagine the Dark Lord's reaction when she told him she wanted to study the Dark Arts.

Would he laugh at her?

_Most probably._

Her internal musings were interrupted by the old Professor.

"I met him almost fifty years ago when he was just a young man. And I still haven't found a mind that could rival his in brilliance, nor even a close match to the magnificence that his magic is." Professor Caelius' eyes now had a faraway look in them, and his voice sounded almost adoring.

_Definitely a fan._

However, if the Professor put it that way, Hermione couldn't _not_ agree.

Judging straightly on intellect, Voldemort was the most brilliant man Hermione had ever met. It was just too bad he decided to use his genius on evil doings.

And his magic … well, the lesson on the cliff was still fresh in her mind even after all those months, and Hermione had to agree that magically, Voldemort was just as brilliant as he was intellectually. If not more.

It were all other sides of him that proved to be _difficult._

"I am so looking forward to our lessons, Miss Granger!" The old Professor now seemed to be full of life and unrestrained happiness.

_Who would have thought Voldemort could have such an effect on people?_

But she needed to know something before she would approach the Dark Lord, and she hoped the Dark Art's Professor would clear some things for her.

"Professor Caelius, may I ask a question about the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked carefully, not knowing how he would react to such a question. She wasn't worried as much about the curriculum as the Arts themselves.

She didn't want to end up as her boggart—an insane Death Eater to the boot—and Hermione needed to know the risks of using Dark Magic. The old Professor didn't look, well, crazy, and Hermione wondered how he had remained sane while teaching Arts like Dark Magic.

Professor Caelius leaned back in his chair, one hand stroking his silver beard—_short and well-cared for_—and the other lying on the wooden table, one finger drumming slowly.

"Let me try to guess, Miss Granger," he said after a minute and Hermione smiled in return.

"You are wondering if studying Dark Arts would make you a Dark Witch—"

At Hermione's attempt to put in a word he raised his palm, telling her silently to wait.

"—and if the Arts will influence your mind. You are scared to lose yourself in them. Am I correct?"

Hermione could only nod and add a "Yes, Professor."

"Trust me, Miss Granger, every year at least half of my students ask me the same question—"

At Hermione's disbelieving expression, he chuckled good-heartedly before continuing.

"—and every year I tell them the same thing that I am going to tell you."

Hermione was all ears.

Looking Hermione in the eyes—_his eyes were light blue, and not red_—Professor Caelius explained in calm and unrushed tone what Hermione had come here to hear.

"Dark Arts is a form of our Magic; it is a natural part of us. Like light needs shadows, the Light Arts need the Dark Arts. When we say Dark, we don't mean evil or bad, we mean Shadowed. It is the Ministries of Magic—like yours, for example—that used to ban and shame this branch of magic, twisting its true meaning to fit their goals." The Professor paused to take a sip of his tea, and Hermione couldn't wait for him to stop drinking so she could hear the rest.

"The Dark Arts allow you to reach a part of your magic that is more volatile but more powerful. Self-control is what separates those who get addicted to the Dart Magic and those who don't. Self-control and intention—those are the fundamentals of Dark Arts and only those two factors will decide whether you fly or you fall." The Professor was now looking at her curiously.

_That was exactly what Voldemort had told her on the cliff!_

"And if you're afraid to fly, you fall," Hermione repeated the Dark Lord's phrase, and she saw Professor's eyes shine with barely hidden amusement.

"Wise words, Miss Granger, and I sincerely hope you'll listen to them." His pointed glare wasn't reprimanding; it was more like an advice from a person who knew what he was talking about.

Maybe it wasn't so bad after all?

She'd talk to Voldemort tomorrow.

_xxx_

"Would you repeat the question, Miss Granger." The Dark Lord's amused voice made Hermione wiggle in her chair. It wasn't like she had a choice.

"I would like to study the Dark Arts, sir."

Hermione also needed to hear it the second time just to be sure she wasn't dreaming.

She, Hermione Granger—a Member of the Order of the Phoenix—was asking Lord Voldemort—the Dark Lord—if she could study the Dark Arts.

A short, cold laugh just like she had expected and then a calm but serious "I don't think so".

_What?_

"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger, not what. Don't be so plebian," Voldemort reprimanded her and Hermione almost blushed. "You have no respect for the Dark Arts, and unless I am mistaken, last time you'd declared your profound hate and disgust for the same Arts you so desperately wish to study now." The Dark Lord was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window.

His cloak and hood were as always present, and Hermione wished—_not for the first time_—that he'd stop wearing them. It was better to see his serpentine face and be able to decipher at least some emotions in his creepy red eyes than trying to guess what he was thinking while looking into darkness where his face should be.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, are you bipolar by any chance?"

_Shut up, Hermione, shut up!_

Hermione thought she caught herself before she voiced her comeback in her mind.

Hermione pursed her lips when Voldemort turned to look at her.

The Dark Lord tsked before moving away from the windows.

"And what made you change your mind?" The Dark Lord sat himself opposite of her.

"I understood that I need to learn the Dark Arts to study Spell Creation and other classes, sir," Hermione answered with a bit of shame that Voldemort had been correct. She had acted like a stubborn child then.

"And?" The Dark Lord's voice held a note of impatience and Hermione continued quickly.

"And I had spoken to the Dark Arts Professor. His name is Alpheus Caelius, sir." Hermione so wished to see the Dark Lord's expression now!

Hermione saw Voldemort slightly nod his head a few times.

"Does the old man still offer obnoxiously scalding tea without warning first or had he learned how to cast the Temperature charm after all those years?"

Hermione wasn't fast enough to hold her laugh back.

_Did that mean that _… She didn't dare to voice her question, but she so wanted to know!

"Yes, you aren't the first one, Miss Granger." Voldemort's voice was amused and light and Hermione caught on the fact that the Dark Lord had shared something private for the first time.

And he was joking with her.

It made her feel peculiar.

"And he's a definite fan of yours, sir," Hermione said sheepishly, smiling a bit.

A short, but genuine chuckle left the hooded figure and Hermione wondered if his eyes shone with amusement.

_What was she thinking?!_

It was strange, but Voldemort didn't comment on her inner thoughts very often now; it felt to Hermione as if he was trying not to hear them at all.

"Then the old man hasn't changed at all. Give him my regards, Miss Granger, when you see him the next time. Just don't take fanmail." Voldemort drank his wine, and Hermione had to stifle another laugh that wanted to escape.

Voldemort had a unique sense of humor—dry, sarcastic, and really funny if it wasn't directed at her.

_What was wrong with her?_

_Was she crazy?!_

"It will be difficult, Miss Granger, very difficult seeing that you don't even have a basic knowledge of the Dark Arts." Voldemort was now twirling his wand between his leather-gloved fingers, and Hermione wondered if he was going to curse her.

"We _are _talking about your studies, aren't we?" His voice sounded calm but a bit annoyed.

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered quickly, unsure why he was asking.

"Then stop squirming in the chair and calm down. You know the rules, don't you?"

The "Hood" was back.

_Thank god!_

"Sir, may I please study the Dark Arts?" Hermione repeated, feeling more at ease with the "Hood" back.

If Voldemort said no, she'd be in big trouble with all her studies.

"Eager, aren't we today?" The Dark Lord had again crossed his feet and laid his head on his gloved hand, its elbow on the armrest.

Hermione preferred to remain silent.

"Every day for two months you'll be studying the basic Dark Arts," Voldemort finally said after a minute.

Before Hermione could voice her concerns that Dark Arts had to be supervised in order for the process to be fluent and not succumbing, the Dark Lord continued.

"Under my supervision. If I deem your progress to be sufficient, I will allow you to study the Dark Arts at Illuminus."

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt.

What horrible things he could make her learn, what obscure-

"I'll make it more clear to you, Miss Granger. As your beloved Muggles say: It's my way or the highway. You either learn what I think you should learn, or you can forget about the Dark Arts forever."

While Voldemort was the best possible teacher, he still was a Dark Lord.

But she really had no choice now!

She didn't trust him in general, but as far as her academic life was concerned, he had her tentative trust.

_Life is going to get even more interesting._

_xxx_

**Mid-November**

It was past midnight and Hermione found herself standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, its woods dark and full of dangers, and the night was also so dark that no moonlight reached the soggy ground. The rain had just stopped and it was cold outside.

Hermione's outer robes were keeping her warm even without the Warming charm, and her feet were clad into ankle-high leather boots with soft fur inside and on the outer brim.

"It's the Forbidden Forest, sir." Hermione's voice sounded a bit incredulous as she looked at the hooded figure of the Dark Lord.

"Is it really?"

Hermione gritted her teeth in annoyance as she waited for Voldemort to continue.

She couldn't even see where he was looking with the hood shadowing his head completely!

"Why are we in the Forbidden Forest, sir?" Hermione asked, looking at where his eyes would be.

_The hood was starting to really annoy her._

"What better place could there be for a romantic picnic in the dim moonlight, Miss Granger?" Voldemort's voice wasn't as cold as it could be and he sounded almost light.

Several months ago, Hermione would have already started to panic at the innuendo, but now, after spending so much time in the company of Lord Voldemort—_the Hood!_—she could already decipher his moods pretty well.

Today—_or now, at least_—he seemed to be in his rare playful mood.

_Good._

Hermione did not know what she felt when he showed this side of him—not a maniacal Dark Lord, but an extremely powerful and knowledgeable sorcerer with a wicked sense of humor.

She felt peculiar.

"I forgot the picnic basket, sir."

After so much time in his presence, Hermione also felt when she was allowed more than usual.

_And today was such a day._

"I would have thought that you were by now familiar with food searching in the woods, Miss Granger. I'm sure you'll manage to not let us starve."

Voldemort was now facing Hermione, and she tried to hide a small smile that appeared in the corners of her mouth.

"I am afraid my cooking would not be to your standards, sir."

Hermione's inner profiler smiled in pleasure when Voldemort chuckled silently.

_Was he smiling? That hood-_

"Miss Granger, you have your practical Dark Arts test today and all you're thinking about is the hood of my robes," the Dark Lord mocked lightly, and Hermione felt her cheeks heat up.

"Sir, but why are we here? I thought that the Forbidden Forest was prohibited for attendance after midnight and until four in the morning," Hermione asked, seriously intrigued.

_She wasn't evading the topic of her thoughts!_

She had wondered about the rules before and came to a conclusion that they ensured that no students from Hogwarts would enter the Forest at night, looking for adventures. _Like before_.

Hermione thought that "not allowed" would not be questioned when the Headmaster was a notorious Death Eater.

It was very considerate of the Headmaster. _Or Voldemort._

"And who's going to tell me where I can go and where I cannot, Miss Granger?" Voldemort continued his way into the forest, and Hermione had to speed up her steps to not get left behind.

Hermione felt stupid for even voicing such a question.

_Really, who?_

"You need a test subject for the practical part of the test and where else would we find such a selection as here? Unless your resolve to not use Muggles crumbled, I see no other way." The Dark Lord now stopped on a small meadow and a bit of moonlight reached his hooded figure.

Hermione wondered if he was frowning in thought.

Hermione crushed the thought about his hood with a heavy mental hammer before it could even raise its annoying head again. Hearing a wolf howl—_it's wasn't a full moon_—Hermione looked at her companion who now started walking into the thick of the dark, dangerous woods.

Hermione took her time looking around—unlike all her other visits to the Forbidden Forest,she wasn't scared now.

What was there to be afraid of if she had a Dark Lord as her guide?

Well, she was afraid, but not for _her _life—more for the well-being of the creatures that would cross their path.

Suddenly, several wolves and wild cats approached the path on which they were standing and Hermione unintentionally took a step closer to Voldemort.

As the animals started approaching, something stopped them in their tracks, and Hermione looked up at the Dark Lord's tall form.

He looked almost bored, his wand not even in his hand.

Hermione relaxed.

The animals suddenly whined, and with tails between their paws, they started retreating, not turning their backs at them even once.

And Hermione understood.

_There was only one hunter in the woods tonight; everyone else was a prey._

"How did you do that, sir?" Hermione asked curiously. She hadn't felt his aura change.

It was a question about magic and she could ask without fearing an outlash.

"It's one of the benefits of being the Dark Lord, Miss Granger." Voldemort's voice was very relaxed and calm with a slight hint of humor in it.

Hermione wondered if she dared.

"And what are the other benefits, sir?"

Hermione wondered if his playful mood was still present or had it already disappeared.

_Crucio or no Crucio?_

_It wasn't like I can decipher his expression, can I?_

She hoped for the best.

"I don't have to stand in line to see the Weird Sisters."

Hermione's hand covered her mouth as she tried to stifle a disbelieving giggle. She couldn't imagine the Dark Lord attending a teenage group's concert. Hermione just had to ask.

"What kind of music do you prefer, sir?"

Voldemort took a step closer and Hermione licked her lips.

"Why the sudden interest, Miss Granger?" His voice was lower now, more silky and sensual.

_Did she just think that?_

"I'm simply curious, sir," Hermione answered while looking into his hood, where his eyes should be.

"_**Are you now?"**_ A mere whisper, but Hermione shivered.

It _was_ cold outside.

"_**Very much,"**_ Hermione hissed back, her voice quivering a bit.

She told herself she was afraid.

"We'll discuss my musical taste at another time, Miss Granger. Your test awaits you." He switched to English, and Hermione released a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding.

"Yes, sir."

Xxx

"_Sievera!"_

The spider twitched as its legs were torn from its body.

Hermione felt horrible, but a spider was better than a deer. _Or a human_.

Voldemort demanded that Hermione used three Dark Spells that would cause harm and pain, but he left the choice for the test subject to her. While he could have simply stated that unless Hermione used a human as her test subject, she would fail, Voldemort had taken a completely opposite route and it really bothered Hermione.

Dark Lords did not give so many choices without a hidden agenda, and he allowed her to chose a huge Acromantula instead of what could have been a human. Hermione didn't know what to think.

Other than those three spells, the Dark Arts studies with the Dark Lord weren't that bad.

The Dark Arts were so much more than just the Unforgivables, and Hermione appreciated all the complicated charms and spells when they weren't meant to cause harm.

Like now.

She had to perform those spells to pass the Dark Arts test that would decide if Voldemort would allow her to study the Arts at the university or not.

She had to pass!

"_Purgis Verta!"_

The spider's body convulsed as blood started seeping through the skin.

Hermione wanted to cry.

She was torturing a spider with the Dark Arts in the Forbidden Forest with Lord Voldemort standing a few steps behind her.

Had anyone told her that—_what, where and, with whom_—half a year ago, Hermione would had advised them to immediately turn to St. Mungo's ward for the mentally unstable.

Hermione did not understand how it was possible to enjoy the Dark Arts. She appreciated them and even respected them, but obsessing over them? Definitely not.

She was sure now she would not get addicted as she felt no pleasure in them. They were magic as usual.

As Hermione prepared herself to cast the last spell—_the most complicated and harmful_—she felt Voldemort's presence directly behind her.

Her heart sped up.

Suddenly, her wand hand was covered by his gloved one and her wand was now held in their joined hands. Hermione could feel the hem of his robes surround her, and the solid presence behind her back let her know just how closely he was standing now.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"_**Feel it." **_ A shudder ran through her body at the voice in her left ear.

"_Maleo Sensa!"_

And Hermione's already galloping heart almost jumped out of her chest as the feeling of pure euphoria raced through her veins, clouding her mind with pleasure.

Voldemort's hand was holding her own, his gloved index finger on top of hers—directly on her wand—and Hermione leaned back from the sensations that were overwhelming her. His magic became hers as well, and for a second, Hermione thought she had died.

Her back was now fully pressed into the Dark Lord's chest, and Hermione closed her eyes.

The spider stopped twitching after the analog of the Cruciatus—just milder and not an Unforgivable—and was now dead.

"I find your performance acceptable," Voldemort said slowly as he stepped back from her, and Hermione looked at the spider.

She'd need to analyze her thoughts when she got home.

_At least she passed!_

Hermione felt peculiar as she approached the Dark Lord and took his outstretched gloved hand.

She preferred his way of Apparition.

_xxx_

**End of November**

Hermione closed the book she had been reading and cast a glance towards the hooded figure.

After talking to Harry yesterday, Hermione could not concentrate on anything else.

She had thought about the Hallows all night, trying to find a way to approach the topic without immediately finding herself on the receiving end of Voldemort's wand as the question wasn't studies related, and Hermione doubted the Dark Lord would simply provide her with answers.

Hermione would have preferred to wait for a better opportunity, but Harry had almost begged her to find out, and Hermione could not find it in her heart to say no.

And she was curious.

While they had known all along that Voldemort now had all three Deathly Hallows, Hermione had never seen him use the Elder Wand.

What had he done with the Hallows? Did he hide them somewhere—_what spells would he use to protect them?_—or did he …

It was useless to guess and Hermione decided she would ask him. Now.

"Sir, I have a question that is magic related but not study related." Hermione liked her wording. She was free to ask magic related questions, was she not?

The Dark Lord closed the book he was reading and put it on the table.

She had his attention now.

"Very Slytherin approach, Miss Granger, maybe there is still hope for you."

Hermione heard a small smirk—_she couldn't see it, could she!_—and watched as Voldemort leaned back into his spacious chair.

If only she could see his face!

"You may proceed," the Dark Lord drawled almost lazily.

Hermione gritted her teeth at the tone, but quickly voiced her question.

"Sir, I was wondering about the Deathly Hallows—" Hermione watched for any reaction—_the hood wasn't helping!_—and only a tilt of his head showed Hermione that she was allowed to continue.

"I was wondering what you have done with them, sir." Hermione thought her eyes would start watering if she stared any harder: shoulders relaxed, one gloved hand on armrest, the other under his chin—_damn hood!_—feet crossed—so far, so good.

The Dark Lord tilted his head to the right—_his usual gesture when thinking_—and Hermione tried not to fidget.

Voldemort raised his hand and a heavy tome flew into his opened palm.

Hermione stared at the book, wondering what was going to happen now, when the next second, the book was in her lap.

'**Mala non timeam'**, Hermione read the cover with greedy eyes and lifted her astonished gaze to look at the Dark Lord.

Was it really …

"If you want to know what I had done with the Hallows, you will find the answer by yourself. This book will help you." His voice was pensive and slightly curious, as he waited for her reaction.

Hermione looked at the book again before closing her eyes for a second.

She had one of the most rarest and obscure Dark Arts books in her hands now, and she had to read it if she wanted the answers.

Looking at the title, Hermione didn't feel so sure anymore.

'_I will fear no evil.'_

_xxx_

_AN: I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Your comments and constructive criticism are highly appreciated. Waves!_


	11. First Taste of Power

_A/N Hi! _

_I think I have writing diarrhea and I don't know what else to do but write. Because that's how it normally works, right? :)_

_Not only did I write this chapter and a bit for the next one, I also had managed to write a one-shot for the Weather/Winter challenge._

_ It's called **Pink Submarine**. And I assure you it's not a crack!story.  
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_I've used a possibility, and shamelessly pimped my own story. I'm proud of myself. Looks at the green tie.  
><em>

_Thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites.  
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_I'll pass the crude comparison aside, but in short- it makes me write faster :) _

_Guest- that would be a nice surprise, wouldn't it? ;)_

_About the name of the book - it is biblical in real life, but Goggle offers it if you search for a Latin word meaning "fear". And so I borrowed it :)  
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_Dear Garble, thank you for your PMs. As Voldemort is my favorite character to write, it's always a great pleasure and a sort of assurance that I'm doing it correctly, when I read that you like the way I portray him and that he's not shallow. And yes, I like him pretty. Tom Riddle was very handsome even in the books. So, it's canon :) Thanks again!  
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_Sooo sorry for the long AN...I'll shut up now._

_Please review!_

_Enjoy!_

_Beta: Serpent In Red _

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Eleven

"Tell me, Avery, are you colorblind or you have missed my attention for way too long, hm?"

The prostrate figure of Caius Avery lay before his feet, and Voldemort suppressed the urge to just kick him in his stupid face. Casting a disgusted glance at the offending fluffy blue carpet, the yellow drapes, and the moss green sofa, Voldemort gritted his teeth.

When he had told Avery to supervise the reconstruction of his new home, he didn't mean that Avery could paint his manor with all the colors of rainbow. If he'd wanted eye-twitching decoration, he would have given the task to the Malfoys.

Was he the Dark Lord or was he Dumbledore?

"_Crucio!"_

Through the screams of the now—_once again_—thrashing figure of his Death Eater, the Dark Lord heard a pop of Apparition.

_So plebian._

Voldemort preferred to Apparate quietly, without making any pop sounds, without letting the others know that he had arrived.

_He wasn't an ice-cream truck that made sounds before approaching._

Lifting the curse from the now quiet Avery, the Dark Lord looked at the bowing blond head of Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes, Luciusss," he intoned almost lazily, enjoying the flinch by the Malfoy Patriarch.

Lucius—despite his new position as the Minister of Magic—was still not forgiven for his failures, and it pleased Voldemort that Malfoy had not forgotten this simple fact.

One failure from him and all three Malfoys would join their ancestors—a very simple and elegant solution if he wanted to make sure no mistakes happened in the future.

"My Lord—" Lucius lifted his head from the floor—_where it belonged_—and took a deep breath—_like his little Mudblood did so often_—before quickly voicing the reason for his presence. "It is done, my Lord." Malfoy's voice sounded proud and even a bit boasting, but it was very respectful and very procumbent.

"Is it really?"

Well, it looked like the Malfoys would be able to produce more arrogant blonds in the future, if what Lucius was telling him was correct.

If not …

"Yes, my Lord. We are ready and waiting for your command," Lucius said in an almost relieved tone, looking him in the eyes.

Well, it looked like his house decoration would have to wait for another time.

Getting up from his throne-like chair and carelessly stepping over Avery's drooling figure on the floor, Lord Voldemort walked over to the windows that offered a gorgeous view of the gardens around the manor.

While the Dark Lord didn't feel any need to have a home—_his only home had always been Hogwarts_—he was still a Dark Lord and he definitely wasn't _homeless_.

_Like his amusing little Mudblood thought on a few occasions._

He could have thrown all the Malfoys—_with their pink fluffy carpets and huge golden mirrors_—out of the manor and claim it for himself—_who would stop him?_—but it would still be Malfoy Manor.

And he wanted something as magnificent as he was to represent _his_ home.

That was why as soon as he had full control over Gringotts and the goblins—_sneaky little shits_—Voldemort opened the secured files—_that should have been his from the very beginning_—and found what he had been looking for.

Slytherin Manor.

A thousand years weren't very sparing to the furniture and the overall appearance, but the magical wards that only the Heir of Slytherin could control had held the enormous manor in an otherwise almost perfect condition.

Six months after he had won the war—_it didn't even start, if he were to be honest with himself_—Voldemort had a perfect home all for himself.

Maybe he would let the Mudblood decorate it?

_She couldn't be worse than Avery, could she?_

Looking at his reflection in the windows, the corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched as he imagined his little Mudblood's reaction.

_Wouldn't that be hilarious?_

Pushing the thoughts about one curious little Mudblood aside, Voldemort stopped before Lucius and, taking his wand out, he activated the Dark Mark.

It was time.

No more mistakes.

_xxx_

Hermione suppressed the urge to just smack this arrogant chit in the face.

Here she was, standing like an idiot in a fully-crowded hall, listening to this arrogant woman viciously lash on her.

"If you aren't aware, Granger—" The bitch actually sneered at her last name. "—today is the final show. We're sold out."

Holding her temper in an iron grip—_months in Voldemort's company did wonders to one's control_—Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and sneered back.

"If you're not aware, I had pre-booked the ticket and I want to get it. Now."

Hermione inwardly clicked her tongue in disappointment—when Voldemort spoke in such tone, it sounded much better.

And much more efficient.

"No tickets for the Mudblood," a rough voice barked from behind her and the crowd leered.

"Dirty beggars not welcomed in Paris!" A heavily-accented voice bleated from the crowd, adding his two cents, making Hermione's blood boil with anger and the blond receptionist's smile turned even nastier than before.

_If it were possible._

"You heard the gentlemen." The receptionist blinked her stupid eyes at Hermione before gesturing towards the door. "You may take your leave now. Don't stand in the way of your superiors."

The nasal voice was grating on Hermione's nerves, and the arrogant smirk on the stupid face didn't help matters.

Holding her chin up and refusing to allow angry tears to cascade down her cheeks, Hermione roughly yanked her pre-booking confirmation from the blonde's manicured fingers and walked towards the exit, trying not to pay attention to the laughter behind her.

Some of the onlookers whispered to one another in French, all the while pointing at Hermione.

_Bastards!_

Opening the door, Hermione gritted her teeth, and for a second—_a tiny second_—she thought about what Voldemort would do if she told him.

Would he also laugh at her?

She didn't think so.

Calling herself stupid for even thinking about it, Hermione cast one last glance at the huge poster of _'The Duel. The final show!' _ before Apparating away.

There was nothing she could do.

xxx

Sitting in her spacious red chair with her feet tucked under her, Hermione opened a bottle of wine.

Ginny couldn't come as she was at Hogwarts, and Harry was once again busy with Lupin and George doing Merlin knows what—_they didn't share that piece of information_—and Hermione found herself alone in her beloved apartment with a bottle of wine as her only companion.

There was nothing new happening with Ron still in coma and the British magical community fully under the Dark Lord's control. It wasn't as bad as Hermione had expected, but she preferred not to voice her opinion when Molly was around. Or Harry.

Cleo—her owl—was flying somewhere in the evening skies and Hermione had no one to talk to.

_Even Voldemort wasn't answering her Portkey activations._

Turning the radio on, Hermione sipped her wine and thought about the show she would miss.

The Duel was a magical show where the duelists performed on a huge platform in the middle of an even bigger stadium that was built like the Roman Coliseum and could fit up to twenty thousand people.

While The Duel had nothing to do with the Dark Arts, it was mostly the pure-bloods and the Dark Arts fanatics from all over the world that cheered almost daily on the tribunes.

There were no restrictions and no rules; a transparent barrier separated the crowds from the platform and two huge screens hung in the air, showing the duelists.

While Hermione had first attended because it was mandatory for all Illuminus students to see the quality dueling at least once, she later went all by herself because it was fascinating.

She had so much to learn!

The tournament was supervised and financed by the British government as the French Ministry of Magic did not have the time nor the money to deal with something of such magnitude. Dark wizards were demanding the same rights that the British now held—with Voldemort in charge, no magic was prohibited, and wizards who dabbled in the Dark Arts didn't have to hide anymore. They were the power.

The only thing the French Ministry asked for was that the finale of The Duel to be held in Paris, at the main stadium.

Hermione had so far attended five shows—three in Venice, one in France, and one in Germany—and today was the finale where Aurelius Girard—_the best dueler!_—would perform.

Aurelius Magenta—for his love of magenta colored robes—was a pure-blood Dark Arts Master who had finished Illuminus ten years ago. He was brilliant with his spells, and there were rumors that Aurelius Magenta was planning to become a Dark Lord in France, where the Ministry could not control the Dark Arts enthusiasts anymore and there was chaos in the magical part.

Hermione didn't know if to believe the newspapers, but the agitation had been big.

And she couldn't even see it!

Gulping her wine, Hermione rubbed her tired eyes.

It was December already, and in the last six months, she had read and done more than she had during her whole life.

The Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy tests were completed, and Hermione could only hope she had done well.

She gave it her all, but she still wasn't sure how she had performed.

_I'll find out from Voldemort soon_, Hermione pondered with unease as she thought about the Dark Lord.

_What was he doing anyway?_

_xxx_

There was a knock on her door.

_A neighbor? _ Hermione thought as she lifted herself from the chair and a bit dizzily limped towards the door.

_He_ wouldn't knock.

The greeting froze in her throat when Hermione saw who was on the other side of the door.

What was _she _doing here?

"Miss Granger." Narcissa's cold smile did not reach her blue eyes. "The Dark Lord sends me," she continued when Hermione made no move to let her in.

_That's something new_, Hermione thought with unease, but if Narcissa wasn't lying—and Hermione could feel that the proud pureblood wasn't here on her own will—then Voldemort really did send her.

"Why didn't he come himself?" Hermione asked the blond witch, refusing to let her in just like that.

Narcissa's incredulous expression told Hermione just how stupid her question sounded.

"I think the Dark Lord has matters more important than to visit you on such a simple matter," Mrs. Malfoy drawled—_like all Malfoys did_—before shoving a letter into Hermione's hands.

"Let me in, Miss Granger."

Hermione opened the letter and _"Do as she says" _was written in Voldemort's unmistakable handwriting.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione made a grimace before slowly, but firmly, nodded her head in greeting before letting the person in.

"Mrs. Malfoy."

_xxx_

Narcissa Malfoy stayed only for a short time, informing her that the Dark Lord would be attending The Duel today, and that she, Hermione Granger, would be going with him.

Apparently, Dark Lords also liked such blood-thirsty shows and even Voldemort would be present for the finale.

Hermione did not need her yet-unattained Mind Arts knowledge to know just how pissed the proud pure-blood was at being treated as delivery and make-up service, and Hermione had to suppress the smile that itched to bloom on her face as she watched Narcissa pamper her.

She had had enough pure-blood shit for today!

Narcissa had also brought her new robes and two house-elves to help her with her appearance, but Hermione didn't appreciate being treated like a dress-doll.

While Hermione wanted to be stubborn and argue, there was not much time left and the letter with a cursive hand-writing was still clutched in her hand.

She had no choice; she was Voldemort's official ward.

Even so, Narcissa had to remind Hermione twice that what Dark Lord demanded was to be done without any questions asked. She told her that one did not go out with Lord Voldemort looking like riffraff.

And Hermione understood that if she looked anything else but perfect today, not only she would suffer for it, but foremost, it would be Narcissa herself.

That was the only reason Hermione could come up with as to why the older witch was all business with her.

So far, Hermione had seen Lucius Malfoy twice and Rabastan Lestrange once—no other Death Eaters disturbed the Dark Lord while she was studying in his presence. And they both had nodded their heads towards her in greeting, without saying a word.

Hermione did not know what Voldemort had told his Death Eaters, but whatever it was, it made them behave around her.

She wasn't a riffraff, and her old clothes were of the best quality, but she had to admit she liked what she saw in the mirror now.

Twirling her now smooth locks around her fingers, Hermione looked over her reflection one more time.

She felt so pretty!

The warm-green robes with silver linings fit her perfectly, the hood of her airy aubergine cloak was spacious but light, and the knee-high leather boots were soft brown in color; her long brown hair was smooth and shiny and the bit of make-up lit up her face.

After Narcissa Malfoy told her that Voldemort was expecting her in an hour at Malfoy Manor, Hermione did not know how she felt.

On one hand, she was very happy she would still see The Duel and that she wouldn't spend the evening all alone—_and drinking wine probably_—but on the other …

She would be going to see The Duel with Lord Voldemort.

_Was he going to wear his damn hood again?_

_xxx_

Hermione tried to tell herself she wasn't nervous, but her hands refused to listen to her as she twirled the golden ring on her index finger.

It was half past nine and the show would begin in a half an hour.

And she was still _here_.

Checking her appearance for the second time—_she didn't want an aperitif in a form of Crucio_—Hermione wondered if Voldemort had done this on purpose.

She felt like an idiot—_all dressed up and eager to see the show_—sitting in a room in Malfoy Manor, and just as Hermione was about to leave the room and, maybe, go look for the Dark Lord, the door opened.

Voldemort's tall figure was clad in dark voluminous robes, and Hermione's heart sped up a notch at his presence.

"Are you always this eager, Miss Granger?" The Dark Lord's voice sounded sincerely interested, and Hermione could feel her face heat up in a spreading blush at Voldemort's innuendo.

_How did he always manage to do that with just one simple question?_

What was she supposed to say? She didn't know the answer herself.

Hermione saw Voldemort nod a bit a few times, as if mulling something over before he extended his gloved hand, and Hermione understood that it was the best she could hope for.

_He approved._

Telling herself she wasn't disappointed that his hood was up, Hermione took his outstretched hand and the Dark Lord Apparated them away.

_xxx_

_Paris_

The noise was deafening. The enormous crowds of witches and wizards whistled and cheered from all the levels of the Coliseum; two enormous monitors that showed the performances were illuminated by the French Ministry's Insignia—a raven with a roll in its claws—and the air was filled with anticipation.

Looking around her, Hermione saw that they had arrived at the right entrance to the Coliseum—the so-called VIP entrance—and there were still about a few hundred people in front of them.

Last time she had been to the show, Hermione had to stand in line for three hours before she could get to her place in the middle-row.

She wondered how long they'd have to wait now when the show would start in thirty minutes.

"What did I tell you about benefits of being the Dark Lord?" Voldemort's amused voice interrupted her musings and Hermione shivered at its close proximity.

Telling herself she was just very anxious to see the final show, Hermione tried to calm her once again quickly beating heart before finally noticing that the crowd before them started to part.

Trying not to fidget under the attention of the onlookers, Hermione raised her chin higher—_it was easier under the hood!_—and confidently walked near the Dark Lord's also hooded figure as they approached the gates.

Hermione stilled for a second when she saw through the crowd the blond woman from the reservation and sales department lingering at the entrance.

_That bitch!_

"Language, Miss Granger."

Hermione wished to apologize for her swearing, but the rage at the woman that had caused her such humiliation today was just too strong.

"She deserves it, sir," Hermione whispered to the Dark Lord as there was no need to scream when she was standing _this close_ to him. _Again._

"Does she really? And what are you going to do about it?"

Hermione wanted to smack the blond witch in the face—_like she had once smacked another blond in her third year_—but she wasn't that violent.

When so many people were watching her every move.

"There is nothing I can do, sir," Hermione frowned, accepting the fact that life wasn't always fair.

_At least she got to see the show! _

"_**You still have so much to learn, little girl."**_ Voldemort's hood was directly above her right ear, and Hermione lifted her gaze to look the Dark Lord in the eyes—or where they should be.

_Damn hood!_

"_**Tsk,tsk."**_The hissing was quiet, but the voice was definitely amused now, and Hermione released the breath she was holding.

Well, at least Voldemort would not humiliate her even further with an episode of Crucio in the middle of a gigantic crowd.

"But I could," the voice offered wickedly.

"But you won't," Hermione said before she could catch herself, and her eyes widened when the hood leaned even closer.

_Her hood was now touching his_!

Her breath hitched.

"And how do you know that?" A mere whisper, but Miss Granger was left behind, and Hermione understood that it was one of _those_ days.

She was—_for some hopefully academic reason_—in his favor today, and that allowed her more than the Dark Lord allowed others. She told herself she wasn't smiling.

"I just do," Hermione whispered while licking her again dry lips and quickly adding "Sir" as Voldemort's gloved hand coiled itself around her wrist and squeezed hard.

What was wrong with her?

Did she drink too much wine? Or was she crazy, egging the Dark Lord on in the middle of a crowd?

Hermione wanted to ask if they would enter now when she saw Lucius Malfoy appear behind them.

Calculating grey eyes looked at Voldemort's hand around her wrist for a second before he quietly bowed.

"Everything is ready, my Lord."

What was ready? What was going on?

"I sure hope so, Luciussss."

Hermione shivered at the ice-cold tone and the dangerous edge it had.

If that was how he spoke to his best Death Eaters, then Hermione thought she should thank all her lucky stars he had almost always used another tone when talking to her.

"_**You should, little girl."**_

Malfoy was now standing a few steps behind them—talking to Rabastan Lestrange—and Hermione, licking her dry lips, dared to hiss back.

"_**I am not a little girl."**_

Shit.

The Dark Lord tilted his head to the right, the hood not letting Hermione see anything, and she thought for a second he'd finally snap and would torture her right here, right now. Or blow up a crowd. _Or the whole Coliseum. _

_Highlight of the evening._

Judging by her reaction to Voldemort, she may not be all there in the head, but she wasn't a little girl.

"_**Then prove it,"**_ the Dark Lord hissed before pushing her forward.

The force was enough to make her stumble a few steps forth, and when she lifted her head, she was face to face with the blond witch who had so rudely humiliated her today.

Hermione almost turned around to see where Voldemort was and to ask how she could prove it, when something clicked in her brain and she finally understood.

He was giving her a chance.

_Revenge is a dish best served cold._

xxx

Hermione watched an expression of pure annoyance and arrogance blossom on the blonde's face when she saw Hermione standing before her.

"You!" the woman laughed while casting Hermione a repulsive look. "Mudblood, you didn't hear what I said in the hall earlier today?!"

A slow smile spread over Hermione's face.

_Patricia_, she read on the name-plate.

"Oh, but I did. It's _you_ who didn't hear what I said, Patricia. You have my ticket now, don't you?" Hermione's voice was calm and collected, not letting any emotions seep through.

She wasn't mimicking the Dark Lord, Hermione stubbornly noted.

"You stupid shit, I'll—"

Patricia suddenly stopped, and all color drained from her face.

"Is there a problem?" an arrogant voice drawled from her left, and Hermione saw long blond hair with her peripheral vision.

So it was Malfoy Senior covering her arse.

How the mighty had fallen!

"Mi-minister Malfoy," Patricia stammered before bowing.

_Pathetic._

"Is … is she with you, Minister Malfoy?" Patricia asked in her nasal voice, smiling like a shark at Hermione when Lucius simply shook his head.

"Mudbloods don't understa—"

Patricia's sniveling remark was interrupted when Lucius added with a sadistic smile on his refined face.

"She's with the Dark Lord."

Well, if Hermione thought _Patricia_ looked a bit pale before then now she was as white as paper.

A sincere smile spread over Hermione's face as Patricia's huge, terrified eyes locked onto _someone_ to her right.

Turning her head a bit, Hermione saw Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix Lestrange stand around a tall, hooded figure.

Hermione was horrified at herself, but she felt so pleased …

She _was_ crazy.

"You may take your leave now. Don't stand in the way of your superiors." Voldemort's cold voice made the blond witch shiver in snivelling fear, and she bowed down so quickly that Hermione was surprised that her spine didn't crack.

_He used the very same words._

The next second, Patricia was in a corner, still bowing, and Hermione smiled.

_This is how you do it._

Hermione heard a whisper in her mind before Voldemort proceeded through the now empty gates with all three Lestranges in tow.

A small nudge from Lucius Malfoy let Hermione know she was to follow.

_Interesting beginning_, Hermione thought as she climbed the stairs to the balcony. She just hoped the ending would not disappoint.

Sitting on the Dark Lord's left in the best possible lounge that was looking directly onto the dueling platform, Hermione was happy.

_xxx_

_a/n Yay! A Duel show with twenty thousand onlookers! Why would I need it? Gasps in mock horror. Is it Harry I see? ;) _

_Thank you for reading! Waves!_


	12. Lord Voldemort

_A/N Hi!_

_See, it's me again :P You had to wait just 2 days…_

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, the alerts and favorites._

_Dear Lazarus, thank you so much!_

_This chapter is one of my favorite so far, and I'd really like your opinion. Good or bad- as long as it's justified (no OMFG! Voldie sucks so story is shit), I'll take it._

_ I try different characters POVs and even though I have favorites, I can try many. So, when you're ready, let me know if I should stick to Hermione's POV or I should continue like I do now.  
><em>

_Longer AN at the end of the chapter, as I don't want to spoil it for you._

_Why don't you like the hood? I like the hood…Hood stays!_

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Twelve

"Your Ministry of Magic—along with our gracious partner, the British Ministry of Magic—" The French Minister of Magic's magnified cheerful voice boomed around the incredibly full tribunes. "—allow the final show of The Duel—" He paused and the tribunes quieted down before erupting in ear-chattering cheers as he finished his sentence. "—to start!".

_What an idiot._

Ruber Perle was a short man in his fifties with long light brown hair that had never seen a comb, and judging by the state of his robes, he dressed in a hurry somewhere in the refugee camps.

_What a waste of air._

And that dimwit was the Minister of Magic of such a gorgeous country as France.

_Such sacrilege._

Now, if there was one person who deserved the title of the Minister, it was him, Lucius thought with an arrogant sneer on his handsome face.

Lightly touching his silky and smooth hair—_unlike some, his hair was beyond perfect_— Lucius rolled his eyes in the dimmed light—_no one would catch him doing something so plebian in the bright light_—and with a sigh, he returned to his documents.

He needed to go through everything one more time.

Even though Lucius did tell Lord Voldemort that everything was ready—_and it was!_—he didn't dare letting even a tiny error seep through the otherwise perfectly built scheme, as there would be only one outcome if he failed.

There would be no Azkaban, no trial, and no slithering around—there would just be death awaiting him, his son, and his wife. The only three people Lucius cared for would die if he even stepped wrongly.

Pale grey eyes were trained on the documents as Lucius sat to the Dark Lord's right, trying to ignore the idiotic show and the moronic crowd.

_Fools._

_xxx_

_Twenty for the general vote and then fifteen for the voti-_

"You filthy piece of shit! Fight like a wizard, you schlimazel!"

Lucius gritted his teeth in annoyance when his favorite sister-in-law so eloquently barked from somewhere to his right. _Again_.

The Dark Lord who sat to his left was silent, which meant that Bella was allowed to scream all she wanted; the Mudblood to the Dark Lord's left was staring at the arena; and the crazy hag was cheering near the parapet that hanged directly before the dueling arena.

While they were on friendly terms in a battle or on missions, Lucius could barely tolerate his sister-in-law when there was no immediate danger or task to perform.

Now he had one hell of a task in front of him while Bellatrix was once again showing just how mentally stable she really was, and Lucius had to remind himself just why he was going through all those papers one more time.

_Narcissa, Draco, Draco, Narcissa…_

Quickly scanning the dueling arena and sneering at the idiots who did not know what fighting meant, Lucius returned to his files. He needed to concentrate!

_Thirty for the administra-_

"Useless swine!" Bella's barking at the duelists was now accompanied by a loud cackling sound—_Rodolphus_—and Lucius wished to just slam the documents on the parapet in front of him and fuck it all.

He would have done so, if he hadn't been sitting next to the Dark Lord. With a suffering—_internal_—sigh, Lucius continued his reading.

_If the reports had been correct, they would be able to make-_

"Graceless schmuck!"

"Can you shut up?!" Lucius snapped at Bellatrix who was now hopping in front of him, leaning on the parapet, and screaming at the new pair of dueling idiots.

"Not enjoying the show, Malfoy? Forgot to do your homework?" Bella's red mouth was stretched in a mocking smile as she grinned at the annoyed face of Lucius Malfoy.

He should have studied the Dark Arts at Illuminus—_like Bella and Rodolphus_—instead of Magical Law and Finances, Lucius thought while looking at their insane faces.

At least then he'd be crazy enough not to care.

Not that _they_ had to execute all the planning …

_Fifty five was a maximum, but if he were to add the possi-_

"Sourpuss!" Bellatrix sang into his ear and actually stuck out her tongue at him.

As Lucius was about to rip out her disgusting tongue with his bare hands, the French idiot of a Minister half-crawled to the lounge and, after bowing deeply to the Dark Lord, was now standing with his stupid face right in front of Lucius.

Bella's mocking smirk was directed at Lucius's now highly annoyed face before she turned back to the arena. She continued expressing her amazement at their fighting skills while her husband roared with laughter, drawing a TROLL with his wand in the air.

_Retards._

With a suffering sigh, Lucius got up from his comfortable chair, and with a bow to the Dark Lord, he left with the French Minister.

_Only one more hour and then he could breathe._

_xxx_

Hermione stifled a stupid giggle as she watched the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange annoy the infamous Lucius Malfoy, who was for some unknown reason reading instead of watching the show.

What was he reading?

Why was he here if all he wanted to do was read?

He _was_ the British Minister of Magic and they _were_ financing and supervising the show, so it was logical that Malfoy would have to attend, but why didn't Voldemort say anything?

The Dark Lord was quiet and didn't say a word during the first hour, and Hermione found herself squirming in the chair when she thought he looked at her. Was he looking at her at all?

Stupid hood!

"This is not what your wand is made for, you shit for brains!" Bellatrix's loud voice filled the lounge as she screamed at the final pair—_before the main duel!_—and Hermione suppressed the urge to smack her.

Silently agreeing with the Malfoy Senior, Hermione wished that the insane witch would just close her trap and let others enjoy the show.

Looking from the corner of her eye at the silent form of the Dark Lord, Hermione pursed her lips.

Why did he allow Bellatrix to scream like a mad banshee without reprimanding her?

_Was he sleeping?_

"Bella, you're disturbing Miss Granger. She cannot enjoy the show when you bark like a dog every two seconds."

Well …

_Thank you_, Hermione thought looking at the hooded figure.

Voldemort's voice was quiet, but Hermione didn't think anyone in the lounge missed his words as there was silence now.

"My Lord." Bellatrix dropped to her knees before looking up at Voldemort's hood with such an adoring look in her mad black eyes that Hermione's foot itched to kick her. Suddenly, those mad black eyes were glaring at her, and Hermione saw hate mixed with envy shine there.

_How I hate her!_

Hermione could honestly say she hated Bellatrix more that she hated Voldemort.

Voldemort was right when he compared Bellatrix to a dog.

_Bellatrix was like a bulldog. And bulldogs listen only to their "Master"_, Hermione mentally drawled the word in her best imitation of the older witch's voice as she looked at the hooded figure of the Dark Lord.

_Voldemort was Bellatrix's religion_, Hermione thought with a curious interest.

How was it possible to lose yourself so much in someone so …?

So …

Hermione just could not find the correct word for Voldemort. And that was the only word she didn't know.

_What made him so special?_

"Bella, Bella," Voldemort said slowly and with a small pause as he leaned closer to the kneeling figure of the Dark Witch.

With disbelieving eyes and a hanging jaw, Hermione watched as Bella's lust-twisted face was swallowed by Voldemort's hood in what could only have been a kiss.

_What the fu-_

Hermione's mental exclamation was interrupted when she suddenly felt the Dark Lord's gaze land heavily on her, making the hairs on her neck stand.

"Behave."

Was he talking to her or to the mad hag?

Hermione had a feeling he was talking to them both.

"I will, Master." Bella's voice was breathless, and she seemed even more not-at-home , but now she looked like she died from an orgasm and went to heaven. Her eyes were shining with such lust that Hermione felt uncomfortable for a second.

She didn't want to watch Bellatrix dry hump Voldemort for many reasons, disgust being one of them.

Bellatrix was now sitting on the floor, in a pool of her robes, her expression still disbelieving and her hand with black fingernails touching her red lips, as if afraid that it hadn't been real.

_The lipstick was still there,_ Hermione noted, squinting.

Why wasn't her husband reacting? Casting a quick look towards the man, Hermione saw that Rodolphus Lestrange's face was illuminated with a mad smile, and she thought with a shudder that she was probably the only one sane here. She _was_ the only one sane here.

_It looked like someone's wet dream came true today_, Hermione mused trying to collect herself and lift her gaze to look Voldemort in the eye. _Or wherever they were supposed to be._

How she hated his hood! Why couldn't he take it off? Why did he have to wear it all the time? What had he done with his looks now?

Did he now have horns and spikes to the addition of his already not small creepy arsenal? Did he have teeth and eyes or they were also gone? Was he so damned ugly now that he had thought she'd snap if she saw him?

How could Bellatrix kiss him and come from it, Hermione did not know.

_I'd vomit from disgust, most probably. It was not possible to adore Voldemort that much!_

Hermione swallowed hard when Voldemort tilted his head to the right and reached out his hand, cupping her face with one black—_smooth_—leather glove.

_**"****Is that a challenge, Miss Granger?"**_

His voice was like the glove—smooth and velvety—the hissing sounding almost erotical, and Hermione felt her breathing hitch and her knees tremble.

_She would never!_

No. She definitely did not want to challenge him to prove her _that_. It was disgusting and not right; it was sick and twisted. It was wrong on so many levels that Hermione was afraid to start counting and it was crazy.

And she _was_ crazy …

_Yessss._

"_**No, Sir." **_

Hermione saw his eyes shine bright red for a second and she shivered.

"_**Such lies, Miss Granger. One must not tell lies." **_Voldemort's hand was still cupping her cheek; Hermione couldn't calm her heart, and her stomach was doing somersaults.

_Merlin, what had she done? _

The quiet laughing coming from the hood was genuine and so amused that Hermione felt her heart drop to her stomach.

What was so funny?

Bellatrix now had a huge smile on her face, grinning at Lord Voldemort, not knowing why he was laughing, but joining his good mood. _He was her church._

Hermione didn't know what she felt, but whatever it was, it wasn't normal.

Why was Voldemort laughing? What was she missing? And why was he talking in Parseltongue when there were others present?

_They knew about the Horcrux_, Hermione realized with the half of her brain that was still functioning. The other part was busy trying to understand just why she had dared to challenge the Dark Lord.

"_**Very well, Miss Granger."**_ The Dark Lord finally breathed out a long hiss that sounded amused, satisfied, and even tender_._

"_**I accept."**_

He was looking her in the eyes.

Hermione told herself she didn't suddenly feel excitement and this funny tingling sensation in her stomach skyrocket.

_What was wrong with her?! _Hermione thought with almost a whine.

Bellatrix was now glaring at her with such hate and jealousy that Hermione was about to make a face when she saw Lucius Malfoy return, and then Voldemort swiftly rose from his seat and moved to the exit.

Where was he going?

Didn't anybody want to watch the show?

Why were they all here then?

_xxx_

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what did you do to make our Lord laugh like that?" Lucius Malfoy was now leaning a bit on the armrest of the now empty chair to his left, and Hermione saw his eyes shine with genuine curiosity.

Hermione wanted to say he wasn't her Lord, but somehow, she felt it would be wiser if she kept that comment to herself.

She was all alone with the most notorious Death Eaters as her only company—_as Voldemort was nowhere to be seen_—and Hermione tried not to let it bother her that she felt safer with the Dark Lord around.

Would they hurt her when Voldemort was not present? Probably not, seeing that no one made a move or drew a wand when the Dark Lord had left—_where did he go?_—and it probably meant that she was safe.

If they also knew about the Horcrux …

What did Voldemort tell them?

Hermione did not know why, but today Malfoy Senior wasn't so annoying.

Maybe because she was seeing a different side of him—silent and busy—and he was the only one here she knew—except for the Lestranges—and he _was_ the sanest of the bunch …

Hermione decided he was the lesser of evils.

"I think I challenged him," Hermione answered honestly, sipping the best champagne she had ever tried.

The look on the Malfoy's face made Hermione almost choke on the sparkling drink.

"You know, Miss Granger," Lucius whispered, and Hermione leaned to her right to hear him better, "you are either the stupidest or the bravest witch I have ever seen. Or both."

Hermione sighed as she had to agree that Malfoy was most probably correct.

"Last times we'd met, you were studying with the Dark Lord, and I couldn't help but notice that his hood had been up both times." Lucius wasn't mocking her; he was very polite and Hermione was interested now as to why he would ask such a weird question.

Wasn't Voldemort always wearing the hood?

"Yes. He always wears the hood up and the leather gloves," Hermione answered honestly, and she saw Malfoy's eyes light up with what Hermione could only describe as curiosity and amusement.

"I see," Malfoy drawled slowly, his eyes sparkling, and his smile looked sadistic for a moment.

Did he know what Voldemort looked like under the hood?

_He_ probably did.

Were it the horns?

_Did Bellatrix know it too?_

"Enjoy the show, Miss Granger." Lucius smiled slightly, but his eyes were still curious and calculating.

"I will, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you," Hermione replied, and Lucius turned to his documents, but he now looked at the arena from time to time.

_Well, that was weird_, Hermione thought, frowning before turning back to face the arena.

Now was not the time to think about the Dark Lord and his promise. _And the freaky kiss._

She wanted to watch Aurelius Magenta, and later, when she got home, she'd worry about her impulsive reaction. _And probably empty all her wine bottles._

Now was not the time.

xxx

_He was the best dueler_, Hermione thought with a fond smile as Aurelius Girard—in his bright magenta-colored robes—defeated his opponent with such ease that it looked like he was fighting against a first-year and not a fully trained wizard.

Aurelius was handsome in a weird sense. His hair was pale-pink and he had a handsome face—the monitors above the arena allowed close view when they zoomed in on his grinning smile—and Hermione had a sense of déjà vu—she had been looking at Lockhart with the same emotions during her second year.

The only difference was that Aurelius Girard could fight like a champion, unlike the useless fraud that Lockhart turned out to be.

Aurelius Girard was waving to the cheering crowds, who mostly gathered to see a possible Dark Lord perform when Hermione noticed another person approach the area.

A man was slowly climbing the stairs to the dueling platform, and Hermione's curious eyes took in every little detail.

He was wearing no robe, and Hermione's hungry eyes noted the dark grey trousers, the silky grey vest, and the slightly shimmering silvery shirt before she lifted her gaze and looked at his face.

_It was a sin to look like that._

Hermione mentally drooled and decided she'd now cheer for the Hottie—she didn't know his name but she needed to call him something, and "the Ice Hottie" was the best possible comparison.

He looked so …

Hermione again could not find the correct word to describe him, and she wondered if something was happening to her brain.

_First Voldemort, and now the Ice Hottie._

She wasn't the only one, Hermione thought with a smile as she watched the crowds lean closer, hungrily staring at the monitors that now showed the handsome stranger.

The short, black hair looked silky even from where she was sitting, and Hermione wondered how it would feel if she touched it.

The man looked no older than thirty—at maximum, thirty five—and Hermione wondered again who he was.

She was sure she had never seen the stranger before as she would have remembered seeing someone like _that_.

A straight nose, high cheekbones, sensual lips, and eyes so pale that the irises reminded Hermione of frozen ice-cubes were now shown on one screen and Aurelius's pink hair on the other.

_He looked like a clown compared to the Ice Hottie_, Hermione thought, smiling.

Who was he?

Hermione watched as the Ice Hottie took his stand opposite of Aurelius Magenta, who was now looking at the newcomer with squinted eyes.

_It looks like I'm the only one unaware of the stranger's identity._

"If you want to fight a Dark Lord, you need to stand in line."

Hermione heard Aurelius Magenta drawl arrogantly in his lightly accented voice, but his posture wasn't as carefree as it was before. He looked tense.

_So he _was_ planning on getting the title for himself_, Hermione thought with pursed lips.

Why did all good-looking and talented guys have to be bad?

Looking at the Ice Hottie, Hermione wondered if he was also bad.

Judging by the looks, he was the baddest of them all.

Hermione would have blushed at her own thoughts, but Voldemort wasn't here—_where was he?!_—and Hermione was a young woman. There was nothing wrong appreciating beauty.

The Ice-Hottie smirked mockingly, and without paying attention to the now insanely cheering crowd, he tilted his head to the right, his shoulders relaxed and figure tall.

_No._

No, no, no, no.

Hermione's heart was in her stomach as a sense of doom took over her now galloping heart.

If they were any vampires around, Hermione was sure they'd be deaf because even she could hear her heart going bum-bum-bum in her chest, ready to jump out at the horrifying suspicion.

She had seen only one person stand like that.

And the familiar tilt of the head to the right ...

Those impossibly pale eyes suddenly zoomed in on her and Hermione recognized the piercing gaze now.

_Voldemort._

A sly smirk stretched over those sensual lips and the stranger—_Voldemort!_—winked at her before looking at the pink-haired wizard with a mocking, sly smile that Hermione had recognized. She had seen Voldemort smirk like that when he was still looking like a monster.

_Fuck._

She had challenged Voldemort when she thought he looked like a snake, and she'd drooled at the Ice Hottie … and it was the same person. He had been looking like that all along and she didn't know.

No wonder he found it so funny.

_Fuck!_

Hermione could feel another gaze at her, and she looked to the right at the now smiling Lucius Malfoy.

"Enjoying the show, Miss Granger?"

And Lucius laughed lightly as he leaned on the parapet where all the Death Eaters were now standing with eager faces, looking at their Master with adoration and proudness.

Fuck.

_xxx_

Looking at the wannabe Pink Lord, Voldemort sneered.

This was the wizard who wanted to become a Dark Lord? This waste of magic?

He was good, Voldemort noted, but he wasn't good enough to become a Dark Lord or to even try.

A Dark Lord was so much more.

Like _he _was.

While Voldemort would have preferred to watch his Mudblood's expression some more—_it was just priceless!_—he had matters much more important to deal with before he had the time for his curious little Horcrux.

Today, he was going to make sure _no one_ questioned his power anymore.

There could be only one Dark Lord.

And France was _his_.

_xxx_

"You, a Dark Lord?"

Hermione heard Voldemort's laughing, cold voice echo around the stadium, and with frozen eyes, she watched as a bone-white wand appeared in his now un-gloved hand.

There was no doubt.

It _was_ Voldemort.

Hermione would have preferred the horns and missing eyes instead of what she was seeing.

_He was the Master of Death,_ Hermione reminded herself, needing to divert her panicking thoughts from the direction they were taking.

But why did he look like that? The book he had given her had nothing in it about turning an ugly serpentine face to _this_. What else had he done?

Hermione's unsteady legs made her lean harder on the parapet, her gaze not leaving Voldemort's tall figure even for a second.

The second screen showed a close-up of the face of Aurelius Magenta, and Hermione saw the moment he understood who was standing before him.

Animalistic fear clouded his brown eyes, but the proud stand did not falter even for a second.

_At least he wasn't a wuss_, Hermione noted.

The crowd quieted down, unsure of what was happening when Voldemort smirked again and addressed the crowd.

"A true Dark Lord does not stand in line."

The sudden silence was deafening as the huge second screen showed Voldemort's face with now burning red eyes.

"Why are you here, Lord Voldemort?" Magenta's voice wasn't shaking, but it wasn't as boastful as before. He wasn't a fool.

Hermione heard sharp intakes of breaths in the now deadly silent crowd.

The Dark Lord slowly took a few steps closer to the pink-haired wizard, and Hermione could hear his polished shoes click on the smooth surface.

The crowd was _that_ quiet.

"To see the magnificent show, of course. Why else would I be here?" Voldemort was still smirking and Hermione found the word she had been looking for when she first saw the Ice Hottie.

He looked _lethal_.

Girard looked a bit off as he tried to understand what was going to happen.

"I welcome you to France," he finally said, deciding to talk to his "colleague" before anything happened.

The sudden laugh that escaped Voldemort was simply creepy, and Hermione shivered when she heard Bellatrix giggle.

What was the reason why they were here?

Now Hermione was sure they didn't come to see the show.

Was Voldemort planning on challenging the possible new Dark Lord? Was that the reason?

Hermione's already in-need-of-medical-attention heart was squeezed with a metal hand when she heard Voldemort's reply.

"It is I who welcome you to France." The smirk was now gone and serious, red eyes were now shining with power.

_What?!_

"Enough talk. Raise your wand and show what you're capable of, Pink Lord," Voldemort raised his own wand, letting the magenta-clad wizard understand that it wasn't negotiable.

Hermione had never seen Lord Voldemort duel, and even though she had matters much more important to mull over, she leaned even further on the parapet, not wanting to miss a second.

She wanted to see Voldemort's magic again.

And judging by the deafening, euphoric noises from the crowds, she wasn't the only one.

A true Dark Lord was challenging a wannabe Dark Lord and they all got to see it.

_The highlight of the evening._

_xxx_

_a/n Tadaa! Did I say the hood stays? Sorry.. Off with the hood! Grins…  
><em>

_So, as my wonderful beta reminded me, Voldemort's eyes are "dark" in the books, I'm going with the movie version and give him pale-pale bluish eyes. I am not only shallow, so I am doing it for a reason :P But no worries, he can change them anytime he wishes! Cannot erase red, can I? If you're wondering how Voldemort looks, points at the cover (made by Ibuzoo, as I'm a talentless schmuck when it comes to painting and art)._

_And in case you have the question as to why would Voldemort challenge another Dark Wizard- he is the Master of Death and he's a show-off. With Dumbledore dead it leaves no one he's afraid of. So why wouldn't he do it? _

_And about Malfoy and Bella knowing about the Horcrux- I'll explain it in the next chapters, but, as Voldemort is the Master of Death , I think he'd tell his closest DE about the Horcrux in Hermione. And I need it for the story ;P_

_If you have any other question, let me know and I'll gladly answer if I can without spoiling the story. Waves!_


	13. France

_A/N Hi!_

_Not even a few days passed and I'm back again. Feel like an obsessed psycho. _

_So, the story is over 50,000 words already (in one freaking month!) and I haven't even reached the half… I have no idea how big it's going to be...over 100,000 words definitely, I think. If not more._

_Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, alerts and favorites._

_I am so glad you liked Lucius! I like him too (well, duh) :)_

_Hope you enjoy this chapter._

_Please review!_

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Thirteen 

Tormented green eyes were watching the huge screen above the crowds, and they could not believe what they were seeing.

_This was Voldemort?_

Hermione had told him that he was the Master of Death. _For real._

She did not explain how she found this out, saying only that she was bound by oath to silence, and that the only thing she could say was that Voldemort had destroyed all three Hallows.

And now he finally believed it.

He had received the invitation but had not planned on attending the show before he found out that Voldemort himself would be here.

Voldemort had invited him as a guest of honor to the final show of "The Duel".

Looking at the burning red eyes that illuminated the dimly lit arena, Harry wasn't sure what he felt.

Why were the fates so unfair?

_xxx_

"_Abructo!"_

The blue curse left Aurelius Magenta's wand and flew towards Lord Voldemort, and she forgot how to breathe.

She could not watch quietly—_even though she had to_—because the Demolishing Curse was incredibly hard to block, especially if it was a close-up curse to the First Triangle.

The Pink Lord wasn't kidding.

She could laugh all she wanted about his stupid face, but he truly was a possible Dark Lord. It wasn't easy to create such a triad even if it were for practice sessions, let alone a true, life and death duel.

It was legendary for a reason—_the Dark Art's First Triangle_—and she could count on one hand all the people she knew who were able to produce it.

_Abructo_ was a close-up curse to the built chain of the two main destruction spells. The tricky part was that while a powerful curse by itself, _Abructo_, when used exactly as the Pink Lord had done, would act as an in-spell rune activator and change their direction, catching the victim from all sides.

This was a fight of magic and knowledge between two Masters of the Arts. The Pink Lord was a Dark Art's Master—_just like she was!_—and Lord Voldemort ...

Lord Voldemort was a god.

But what she was watching wasn't something she could call casual.

The spells have been flying right and left, smashing into magical barriers that protected the public, for the last ten minutes, and she was torn between freezing from fear and burning in ecstasy.

But only now was she _truly_ afraid.

What _if_—_it wasn't even questionable that her Lord would block the spell_—but, what _if …_

She has lost him once already.

Her hand was suddenly squeezed in a death grip, and she tore her mad gaze from the duel for a second to see Lucius lean close to her face.

He looked like he always did—_all sleek and shiny like his beloved peacocks around the Manor_—but his eyes were dead serious as he whispered, "Quiet."

Yes, she had to stay quiet. She didn't dare to endanger Lord Voldemort's concentration.

It was her Master who had started the duel with a simple _Maleo Sensa, _and Bellatrix had wondered then as to why would he choose such a light Dark curse as beginning?

All the times she had seen him duel—_and he taught her how to duel, so it were many_—he had used a curse from a different branch of attacking magic as an entrance.

And no matter how insane everyone thought her to be, Bellatrix wasn't stupid.

Not even half a minute into a duel, she could see his handwriting clearly on the step-by-step introduction to the Dark Arts. Lord Voldemort was egging the Pink Lord with catchy spells that were insane in their power but weren't really serious.

A head-cutting spell that could be blocked was nothing compared to what she had seen Lord Voldemort do.

She recognized her Lord's lesson when she saw one.

Bellatrix promised herself to take a closer look at the Mudblood.

_Not that her Master would touch something so filthy._

She wouldn't have been so worried hadn't the Mudblood had a part of her Lord's soul inside of her filthy body. This filthy creature carried her Master's soul around as something casual—_like a fucking scarf_—when it was a blessing of such magnitude that Bellatrix would have killed anyone and everyone to have this honor.

Despite the bone-crushing strength with which Lucius had been gripping on to her arm, Bellatrix had been prepared to scream, simply because she couldn't hold it anymore. However, before she could, she heard a scream from her left.

"Watch out!"

_The Mudblood._

Bellatrix quickly looked over and saw the priceless moment. The Mudblood's face was horror-stricken when she realized that she had screamed out loud, and the people present in the deadly-silent stadium were now looking at her.

"_Davine Ectra!"_

Before she could think about the implications of such an outburst, Bellatrix heard her Lord's cold and serious voice, and she breathed out in relief and happiness.

The duel would be over in a second—her Master was now serious.

_The curse of the damned. _

Lord Voldemort's signature curse.

She had seen him use it many times, and each time, it made her magic, heart, and mind thrash in ecstasy.

It was his own invention, a creation of five masteries—the Dark Arts, Runes, Transfiguration, Charms, and Necromancy—that leaked into one's magic and sucked it out, binding the core to the Lord Voldemort's wand before he would rip it out, and the victim would die slowly and painfully.

It was the most powerful curse Bellatrix knew, and it wasn't used often only because of the power necessary to cast it and the power drain it had on one's magic.

_But it was divine._

Even if the Pink Lord did manage to somehow block it, it would then blow up and create a crater in the place where he stood.

Only Lord Voldemort knew the counter spell—_if there was one!_—and he did not share.

It was over.

_xxx_

Hermione saw bright red eyes look at her quickly. Honest surprise appeared in them before disappearing behind a laughing expression, and she suddenly realized that she had said it out loud.

_Screamed it._

In the otherwise silent stadium, the magnified echo was still flying around the tribunes when Hermione felt the force of the gaze of twenty thousand people on her.

_My god! What have I done?_

But it was the "Hood", _her "Hood",_ and Hermione just could not watch as the Demolition Curse sped towards her mentor, finishing the First Dark Triad, which was described in the book Voldemort had given her.

It wasn't Lord Voldemort fighting; it was the "Hood", who now had a face she did not associate with Lord Voldemort yet. The initial Lord Voldemort had a serpentine face, no nose, and a skeletal body.

The "Hood" was teaching her an academic lesson, and Hermione recognized a lesson from the "Hood" when she saw one.

The extremely knowledgeable, sarcastic Hood who'd provided her with everything she could only want, who joked with her and had a sense of humor she appreciated, and whom she had met every three days for the last half a year, was showing her what magic really meant and how it was possible to bend one's magic to the will, when Aurelius Magenta fired off that last spell combination.

And Hermione lost control for a second.

_I didn't mean to!_

She wanted Lord Voldemort dead, but she did not want the "Hood" gone.

_What have I done?_

Hermione was pale-white, and her panicked eyes were trained on one figure on the arena, so she did not see shocked green eyes look at her from five balconies up.

Hermione did not see the figure of Harry Potter lean over the parapet, but Harry Potter saw everything.

_xxx_

Harry wasn't sure who looked more terrified—Bellatrix Lestrange or Hermione Granger as they stood side by side, watching Voldemort's impossibly suffocating dark magic—and when he heard Hermione scream, Harry felt something bitter in his mouth.

Bile was rising up his throat, and he wanted to vomit from the realization that Hermione—_his best friend Hermione_—screamed at Lord fucking Voldemort to watch out.

How he hated him.

It was all his fault!

_xxx_

"_Abructo!"_

Finally.

He could finally finish the Pink idiot, now that the final spell had been cast.

He didn't have to kill him, as Girard could be useful, but he had to make a point.

He didn't have to kill the pink failure, but he could and he wanted to.

And that was a deadly combination.

Girard had good, quality knowledge of the Arts, and he was a good dueler, but Lord Voldemort found himself disappointed. He had awaited for more.

Apparently, one could not trust reputation anymore.

_Just like with Potter._

Only Albus Dumbledore could make his magic dance in rave, and Albus Dumbledore was dead.

He wished to see the old fool's face now so he could gloat and laugh at him, and Lord Voldemort had to squash his obsessive thoughts about one deranged old coot.

_There was no serious competition left at all, if this was the possible Dark Lord,_ Voldemort thought with a sigh.

Even Lucius had better Occlumency shields, and Lucius was many things, but a talented Occlumens he was not.

It was pathetically easy to manipulate the fight and predict every single move of his opponent, and Lord Voldemort wanted to finish this mock duel now. He had his fun.

As he gathered his magic to shield off the attack and interfere with the casted spell, he heard a panicked "Watch out". For a second, he thought just how brutally he'd punish Bella for screaming something so imbecilic to him—_did she think that, what, he may have forgotten how to fight off serious spells?_—when he realized it hadn't been Bella.

_Well, well, well …_

What a nice surprise.

Voldemort barely held back a laugh when he imagined Potter's facial expression, if his little Horcrux's pretty paper-white face was of any indication. He quickly cast a glance up, meeting horrified green eyes he knew so well, and Voldemort's mouth twitched into a now honest and genuine smile.

When he had invited his biggest mistake to enjoy the show, he hadn't planned on his little Mudblood's possible outburst.

The evening was getting better and better.

"_Davine Ectra!"_

_Only Dumbledore had managed to block it once and he was already dead._

Pity.

_Greetings to Albus Dumbledore_, Voldemort mentally pushed the thought to the Pink Lord, and he saw his brown eyes widen in realization.

There could be only one Dark Lord and he did not share.

_xxx_

Lucius let go of Bellatrix's arm when Aurelius Magenta fell to the floor, his body twitching in agony, his magic ripped away from him as he slowly died.

Blinking a few times to fight off the euphoria—_he was high!_—Lucius saw the still shocked Mudblood—_now_ _that had been interesting!_—and quickly looked up to see Potter's twisted face.

Still high from the amount of magic on the arena, Lucius could feel the corner of his mouth twitch in a coming laugh at the stupid expression on Potter's face.

His Lord was a genius.

Not that he doubted it even for a second, but it was always something special having the privilege to see such power so closely and know that you were the second-in-command.

Lucius never wanted to be the Dark Lord simply because he did not have the magical power to pull it off; only his Lord and Dumbledore had been powerful enough to claim their respective titles of Dark and Light Lords. But he wanted to feel the power anyway, and that was why he had joined the Dark Lord; the benefit of doing whatever came to his mind when dealing with Muggles was just that—a benefit.

While he was a sadist, Lucius had to admit he wasn't as blood-thirsty as his sister-in-law or many other Death Eaters. He was more pragmatical—he enjoyed causing pain as much as the next sadist, but he had his boundaries.

_Unlike some_, Lucius thought while sparing a glance at Bellatrix who looked so high that he doubted she knew where she was.

Lucius was similar to Severus in that way, drawn by power and knowledge, but unlike his once best friend—_never trust a snake!_—Lucius honestly and truly believed the cause, and while he _was_ slithery, he was loyal to his Lord.

That was the only thing that saved his and his family's life. Lucius knew that for sure, as Lord Voldemort basically raped his mind after the whole incident in the Forbidden Forest and then Narcissa's and Draco's.

He was useful and he was loyal, and that was why he was now standing on the best possible balcony, watching his Lord triumph over that tasteless—_why magenta when there were more fitting pink tones?!_—fraud who claimed to be a Dark Lord.

While Lucius didn't doubt now that Aurelius had the magical power to try for the title, he lacked followers and structure.

It had taken Lucius one month to infuriate the French Ministry and only four months to plan and execute everything, and the so-called Dark Lord of France didn't even notice.

Looking at the golden watch in his hand, Lucius noted it was quarter to midnight.

_Fifteen minutes._

Right on schedule.

_xxx_

As the body of Aurelius Magenta hit the floor after the unknown spell from Voldemort, Hermione saw the Dark Lord slowly walk over to the twitching body with pale-pink hair, his shoes clicking on the smooth surface.

No one dared to even breathe.

Voldemort's bright red eyes were shining on his handsome face as he stepped on Aurelius Magenta's body, leaning his arm on his leg that was holding the twitching head of the fallen wizard under his black shoe sole.

_Just as he had done with me that day as I had failed with the first practical test,_ Hermione realized, her mind still reeling from shock. _Did I really care for the Hood that much?_

"This is how you do it, Pink Lord." Voldemort's voice was now again light and mocking, laughing eyes looking down at the fallen figure with a sadistic smirk.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

The Dark Lord removed his foot from the still twitching body of Aurelius Girard as he slowly walked around, his voice quiet but powerful as he addressed the silent crowds.

"And I am the only Dark Lord."

Voldemort made a pause to watch the silent crowd, still slowly making wide circles on the arena, both monitors showing his elegant form from all angles.

"Today, wizards and witches, is a good day. Today, we finally say 'enough'. Today, we take what is ours by birthright."

Hermione saw many onlookers lean closer, mesmerized by the Dark Lord and the show they had seen.

"Our right is to cast any magic we wish to, when we wish to, and where we wish to. No more restraints!"

Many people started to get up and their faces were illuminated by disbelieving, happy smiles.

_Purebloods_, Hermione realized with unease.

More and more were getting up, and Hermione now saw at least half of the stadium stand up.

"Six months ago, I have freed Britain from the chains that Muggles had set on our magic many centuries ago, and today, I free France."

_No._

Was this evening going to end?

How many shocks Voldemort had in store for her today?

Hermione's mental torture was interrupted when ear-shattering, euphoric cheers filled the air.

"The French Ministry of Magic is now fully under my control, and I free you!"

A roar so powerful that it shook the tribunes erupted from the now raving Dark Arts fanatics and purebloods, that Hermione had to sit back down into her chair.

She couldn't stand. Her knees were shaking, and her heart was beating so fast she thought for a second if she was going to get a heart attack.

Voldemort was taking over France.

"We, those who are blessed with a gift like magic, are superior to anyone and everyone. Our pure blood is filled with magic and we are all powerful."

Voldemort was manipulating the crowd—he was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear, Hermione realized with a sense of doom.

His elegant form, handsome face, and his incredible magic were doing half of the job for him, and his powerful but mesmerising voice was drawing people to him like moths to fire.

Voldemort was using all his arsenal now, the beautifully sculptured human face giving him even more power.

With tears in her eyes, Hermione could see so many faces staring at the huge screens with such joy and devotion that she felt sick.

Voldemort wasn't only taking over France, he was taking over people's hearts and souls, building a far bigger army than he had now—he was gathering followers.

Hermione swallowed hard.

She wanted to wake up.

"Mudbloods—" Voldemort's eyes caught hers for a second, and Hermione could only stare back, her brain in override mode. "—if you denounce your filthy heritage and prove us, your superiors, that you are worthy, we will welcome you to our magical world."

Hermione's shocked eyes noticed many other people get up, their faces now eager and ready.

_Half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Dear god, how many!_

"One ruler, one community, one religion!" Voldemort paused and pointed his wand in the air, up. "Magic!_ Morsmordre!"_

With disbelieving eyes, Hermione saw Lord Voldemort shoot a Dark Mark into the air above the stadium when the crowds started to chant, the green mist of the Dark Mark illuminating their ecstatic faces.

"Our Lord, our Lord, our Lord …"

_It wasn't happening!_

As Hermione saw some people on the tribune where Aurelius Girard's friends—_followers_—sat get up with determined faces, Voldemort pointed his wand in their direction.

"_Expulso Morde!"_

The balcony exploded with a blast so powerful that half of the tribune fell to the ground in small pieces, and between the deafening screams from the crowds, Hermione saw Lucius Malfoy look at her with a mocking smirk on his refined face.

"Would you like some champagne, Miss Granger?

Looking at Malfoy's face, Hermione saw a mad glint in his normally sane eyes shine brightly as he started laughing.

_Am I dreaming? This couldn't be happening!_

And then one after one, Dark Marks started appearing everywhere, illuminating the dark sky with a bright green color, and a horrible skull with a slithering snake was now everywhere she looked.

"Bow before me and nothing will stand in our way!"

How did he know what to say? How did he know the exact words that would—_had_—reached almost everyone in the stadium, the destroyed lounge of Aurelius Magenta being the only big exception?

Hermione felt her hands shake and she needed air.

The people started to go on their knees, one by one, until only a few kept standing here and there; the full stadium was on their knees before Lord Voldemort.

Just as she thought nothing could shock her anymore, Hermione saw with almost a heart attack a new figure appear—_the magenta-colored sleeve of the robe giving his identity as a follower of Aurelius Girard away_—from somewhere around the arena, and the next second, he shouted.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Voldemort was standing with his back to him, and Hermione saw Voldemort turn to see who dared, a strange expression in his red eyes. Hermione almost screamed again when the Killing Curse approached the Dark Lord .

"No!" Bellatrix screamed in a deranged voice as Voldemort made no move to step aside as the Killing Curse was now not even a meter away from him.

Then again, the spell was too fast. There was no way he could've sidestepped it even if he wanted to.

Hermione couldn't breathe.

The bright green curse slowed down when it almost touched Lord Voldemort's immobile form and then, it just passed through him, as if he weren't even there, before hitting the barrier behind him with a loud bang.

_He was the Master of Death and here was the proof._

Hermione looked at the stranger's shocked face when she heard Voldemort's chilling laugh.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Hermione closed her eyes when Voldemort shot a Killing Curse at the follower of Aurelius Magenta, and she heard a thud a second later. She was going into shock, and her mind and body was not cooperating with her.

"This is how you do it," Voldemort added, laughing out loud, his voice triumphant and euphoric.

The crowds cheered like mad, their new idol standing tall before them. And it looked like _this _idol would not be killed so easily. If at all.

Hermione felt someone's hand around her arm, as someone—_Lucius Malfoy_—made her stand up. Her legs weren't listening to her, and her mind was numb with shock.

_I just wanted to see the show. Am I truly damned?_

He was holding her tight when the tribunes shook again after an explosion sounded somewhere outside of stadium.

The Death Eaters started Apparating away, their full Death Eater robes on, prepared to go to their assigned destination to wreak havoc all around France, and Hermione was Apparated away by Lucius, but not before seeing the huge screens illuminated with a Dark Mark instead of the raven with a scroll.

France had fallen.

_xxx_

Hermione was sitting in her apartment, her numb hand holding a glass of wine—_her sixth!_—and her eyes unmoving.

She just wanted to see the show.

As her hand reached out to refill her now empty glass, Hermione saw the bottle fly over to the figure standing in the shadows.

Hermione didn't need to hear his familiar voice to know who it was.

"And here I thought you'd drink something stronger."

Hermione's drunk brown eyes looked at Lord Voldemort's unhooded figure as he slowly approached the sofa opposite her and sat down, his form elegant and relaxed, a few buttons of his silvery silky shirt opened, and his eyes ice-blue again as he looked over her crouched form.

Hermione was already drunk and his presence—after the evening of shocks—did not help the matters.

He snapped his fingers, and a second later, a house-elf appeared, holding a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey.

"Would you like a drink, Hermione?"

Her brain still numb, Hermione caught on the fact that Voldemort had called her by her first name for the first time.

_One more drink would not kill me_, Hermione thought, trying to get up, only for her unsteady legs to give up. The next second, she fell into Lord Voldemort's lap, and those piercing, pale eyes were watching her from only centimeters away from her face.

She was face to face with Lord Voldemort.

Hermione could only stare into his eyes, her mind drunk and numb.

His sensual lips were almost touching hers, as she leaned closer, and Hermione felt a hand in her hair.

Her palm moved on its own and now lay on his smooth shirt—it _was _silk!—and she could feel the steady heartbeat under her fingers. Her other hand slowly crept up to lie on his vest-clad shoulder, her drunken eyes taking in every little detail of his refined face.

Her heart was replaced with some loud pump that missed a few beats, and her brain was foggy.

Hermione didn't know what would have happened, had she not heard the Dark Lord whisper quietly "Sleep" to her lips, and she immediately fell asleep, unaware of arms that picked her up and laid her on the sofa.

_xxx_

As Voldemort looked over Hermione's now sleeping figure, he placed the bottle of Firewhiskey on the table—_she'd need it_— and smirked before disappearing just as quietly, as he had appeared.

_Our celebration would have to wait for another time_, Lord Voldemort thought while returning to the French—_his_!—Ministry of Magic.

He'd let his Mudblood sleep off her shock and drunkenness.

He was very merciful.

Today was a good day.

_xxx_

_a/n He's such a show-off! Tsk :)) Please let me know what you think! Waves!_


	14. The Choice

_Hi!_

_Guess who's back :) And with a huge chapter!_

_So, I try to avoid huge ANs, but I feel that now is the time to clear up a few things, and that's why I posted it on my profile page, instead of spamming here. So, if you're interested, you can read it. It should answer a few questions, I hope. _

_I will gladly accept all your criticism (has to be reasonable and logical, otherwise it's useless)._

_I try to avoid any logical mistakes, but if I make one…I own up to it._

_Dear anon, thank you for pointing out the logical loop with the barrier. I lowered the barrier but then it was up because the Killing Curse hit it. Head-desk. I thought I'd say "He's the MoD, so he's all powerful", but it would be lame… I did make a mistake, but since the chapters are not written (I post as soon as the chapter is done and beta-ed), I have the great opportunity to catch the mistake and correct it in time. I have done so, hopefully, with the barrier. You'll see the loop closed in this chapter. If you find anything else, please let me know (not that I'm asking you to nitpick... ;)) I found it a nice challenge, so thank you, anon! ;)_

_Thank you so so much for the wonderful reviews! As you can see, I'm becoming more and more productive, as the story goes on._

_Thank you Kirtash, Mrs. V, Swiftielove, Garble, and everyone who reviewed. I always try to answer, but if it's anonymous, I can do so only in the a/n._

_Your reviews make me so happy! And when I'm happy, I write faster… just look how big this chapter turned out to be! ;)_

_Anyway, sorry for the long a/n. More on the profile page, under Two Steps From Hell._

_Suddenly sees fluffy, Light!Tom run around the chapter, trying to fit in….Avada Kedavra!_

_Off with the fucker!_

_I'll shut up now._

_Enjoy!_

_Beta: poor Serpent In Red who had to beta almost 60 thousand words in one month because she's an awesome friend ;P_

_All mistakes you find are mine._

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Fourteen

**20th December**

Sapphires or diamonds?

_Or both?_

Should he order from Chopard—_now, if anyone says that it is Muggle, it's not; pure-bloods in their 11__th__ generation and he was friends with the current Lord Chopard_—or should he turn to goblins?

They _were_ sneaky little bastards, but the jewelry they made was simply _flawless_.

All gems of the best quality, the perfect cut, and the purest gold.

He wanted something special for Narcissa. This year had been so crazy, and his wife deserved a gift that would be _very_ dazzling even for a Malfoy.

Not that he cared about the price.

He was one of the richest purebloods in the whole Europe—_if not world_—and not only because he was a Malfoy.

Wizarding banking, correct investments, black market, Muggle-wizarding currency exchange market—_money was money_—and Lucius knew how to make even more money.

The funding of the Dark Lord's campaign had been fully on his shoulders from the beginning, and he would have had as many Galleons in his vaults as the Weasleys had he not known how to create miracles with finances.

_Now_ his service to his Lord was filling his already overflowing vaults instead of draining them. And it was filling them rapidly.

Lucius closed his eyes—_he didn't care about the Mudblood, and his Lord was reading the documents Lucius had brought with him_—and leaned a bit into the chair.

His Lord had control over the whole Magical Britain and France.

And Lucius was in charge of it all.

_Financially._

He _was_ a financial guru, and everyone knew it.

Even his Lord didn't question his financial decisions, and Lucius was allowed to do whatever he deemed necessary.

The last six months—and this month especially—Lucius felt like a child in a candy store.

And the store was his.

Well, not _his,_ but Lord Voldemort didn't care how he made money as long as he made it.

Lucius did not even doubt that his Lord knew both Magical Law and Finances—_his two specialties_—but it, apparently, did not interest him that much. If at all.

Lord Voldemort did not care about such things.

And Lucius couldn't be happier.

Speaking about happiness …

Should he buy lingerie from Dior—_12__th__ generation, related_—or should he buy something more _interesting …_

"Sir, what is RSA?" Mudblood's eager voice interrupted him from his internal musings as he waited for Lord Voldemort to read the documents and magically sign them.

_Radix-Stem-Appix_. _The base rule for building a Dark Arts attacking spell._

So, the Mudblood was studying the Dark Arts under Lord Voldemort's tutelage.

Lucius, still leaning a bit into the chair, looked to his left at the Mudblood. She was sitting on the sofa, papers and books all lying around her pretty form_._

_Beauty was beauty, _and she _was_ magical _in a way_.

After the euphoric night in Pairs, Lucius took a much closer look at the girl who sat to his Lord's left at the _show_ and who was also a living Horcrux. This Mudblood had a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul trapped in her nicely shaped body.

_He wasn't blind._

The girl—_Miss Granger_, he corrected himself again—was now staring at the reading Lord Voldemort, her ardent eyes expecting an answer.

_Was she always this eager?_

"Is there something I should be aware of, Lucius?

_Shit._

"I apologize, my Lord."

The Mudblood was staring at him now with a knowing smirk on her face. He didn't doubt that she knew what had happened, and Lucius wondered how many times _she_ had to apologize for her thoughts.

Lord Voldemort reached out a hand and his magic called for a book that swiftly flew into the Mudblood's avid hands.

Lucius smothered the inappropriate thought that once again wanted to appear even before those cruel pale eyes landed heavily on him.

Had it been anyone else, Lucius would have said the eyes were twinkling, but Lord Voldemort didn't do eye twinkling, so it was the light from the windows.

_Or rage._

Lord Voldemort's wand appeared in his hand, and Lucius braced himself.

The bone-white wand's tip—_that he had seen way too many times_—suddenly lit up in bright purple—_Lord Voldemort's signature_—and a swish appeared on the papers.

Was it his lucky day?

Lucius breathed out as Lord Voldemort sent the papers into the folder before throwing the folder at him with his magic.

Lucius barely caught it before it could hit him in the face.

He did redeem himself—_his Lord's direct words_—but you never knew with Lord Voldemort.

The Mudblood's fervent eyes were watching them from her comfortable position on the pale grey—_nice shade_—sofa, and Lucius's inappropriate question appeared again before he could even stop himself.

Whenever he had seen the Mudblood, she had always looked so eager, and Lucius could do nothing when he again wondered if she was _always_ this eager.

"You're not the only one."

A sudden, disbelieving laugh escaped Lucius's lips before he could stop it.

Was he crazy today?

_Did his Lord just …_

Before Lucius could even apologize again—_or even think_—Lord Voldemort waved his hand at him before picking a book he had been reading prior to Lucius's arrival.

"You're dismissed, Lucius."

His Lord was smirking now, and Lucius saw the man he had come to all those years ago.

Cruel, but charming; dead serious, but with a very unique sense of humor; charismatic beyond measure, and he had such a magnetic personality that it was impossible to resist him.

Especially when he looked like he did now—human.

The whole Britain and France takeover and the show with the Killing Curse seemed to bring his Lord to a better mood when dealing with him, and Lucius couldn't be more relieved. He had been one step from hell, but now he was back to business.

He would make his Lord proud.

With a nod to the Mudblood's _curious_ face and a deep bow to his Lord, Lucius Malfoy Apparated away.

_xxx_

**26****th**** December**

Hermione was sitting near the Christmas tree in the living room of the Burrow.

It was late at the evening—_probably after midnight_—and the lights were out.

Hermione told herself she wasn't crying when she wiped her eyes with her sleeves; she wasn't sitting under a Christmas tree, crying waterfalls, feeling alone and unhappy.

The Christmas evening and the Boxing Day have been weird to say the least.

Luckily, no one here was _there_ when she had screamed out at the stadium, and Hermione did not plan on sharing that little detail. It wasn't in the newspapers—_a very unexpected, but a very nice gesture from Voldemort_—and only Death Eaters nearby knew who she was—_she had been wearing a hood_—so Hermione decided not to tell. How would she explain it?

She didn't know how to explain it to herself, let alone to Harry and the Weasleys.

Everyone knew what had happened with Aurelius Girard and the French Ministry, but not what _she_ had done.

And could have done, had Voldemort not put her to sleep with a spell.

She wouldn't have done anything …

She wouldn't!

Hermione still didn't know what to think about the challenge, and her own behavior during—_and especially_—after the show.

Voldemort was something else, and she had never dealt with someone like him, with someone of such magnitude, so it was logical that she would have mixed feelings.

_Enigma._

He'd even shared a private joke with Malfoy while she was in their presence. What they'd joked about, Hermione did not know, but Lucius had looked so shocked that Hermione came to the conclusion that Lord Voldemort didn't show his funny side even to his best Death Eater very often. _If at all._

When Hermione Apparated to the Burrow on the 24th of December, the first person to greet her had been Ginny.

Ginny had been at Hogwarts and didn't have much to tell, but apparently, the curriculum changed and now many new subjects were introduced. As for discipline, Hermione understood that the Cruciatus was not allowed to be used by the Professors, and only the Headmaster could give out such brutal punishments.

She and Ginny talked about her studies, the show—_without the detail about her outburst_—and the current situation in the Wizarding world, with France being now a British ally.

Ginny asked about Voldemort's looks, as all newspapers had his refined face on the front pages, and it wasn't a secret anymore how the Dark Lord looked like.

Hermione explained to her red-haired friend that it was a shock for her as well, as Voldemort had been wearing the hood all this time. Ginny asked her, if she'd wanted to talk about it, and with a heavy heart, Hermione had to say no. It didn't matter, she said to her friend.

And she'd lied.

She wasn't ready to discuss Voldemort's—_the Hood'_s!—new looks even with herself.

Ginny had to agree that not that much had changed for most of the population. Everything was running even smoother than before, and it did not look _so_ bad for most people.

It were the Weasleys, however, who were taking a full blow.

George did not say a word, looking pale and still in serious grief.

Arthur looked older than before, grey hair almost fully covering his usually orange mop.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were looking worse for wear.

Ron was still in a coma, and it looked like he wouldn't make it through the mental barrier, but Hermione still hoped that he'd wake up, and maybe _she'd_ find a way to wake him up!

She'd promised that to Ron as she sat near him this whole morning, before Molly came in to check on her son.

_To see if the Horcrux hadn't maimed him._

Molly …

Hermione felt as if a part of Mrs. Weasley died with Fred, the funny, laughing part, and now the Weasley Matriarch could be described with one word: misery.

And of course, everyone knew that Voldemort had taken over France, and the warm but tight smiles Hermione received when she had arrived told her that it would not be a Merry Christmas.

The money situation with the Weasleys was getting worse and worse; Harry looked closed-up and uptight, not talking much to anyone; and the general atmosphere was so depressing that Hermione felt she was at funerals instead of Christmas.

Harry was more silent than usual; he seemed really depressed, and Hermione couldn't really blame him. He asked her if she was ok, and that was it. Hermione did not know what to think about it.

There was nothing to celebrate, but she so wanted to spend time with them and to give them at least something! They were her family—_with her real parents Obliviated_—and she had no one else to go to.

Well, that was a lie, but Hermione hoped the day would never come when she'd ask Lord Voldemort if she could stay with him in Slytherin Manor on Christmas.

No matter how magnificent the manor was, there was something very wrong sharing a home with Lord Voldemort on Christmas.

Hermione wanted to be _here_!

_A road to hell is paved with good intentions._

Wiping her wet cheeks, Hermione felt like an idiot.

_She needed her mother!_

She was such a smart witch—_even Voldemort said she wasn't stupid when she made the effort not to be!_—but somehow, in everyday life, when it came to relationships, she felt like a retard.

Who asked her to buy all those presents for everyone without thinking? She was very careful about it and bought only small, inexpensive things. But, apparently, inexpensive for her and for the rest had now a different meaning.

It wasn't her fault that she shared company with the likes of Lucius Malfoy—_not talking about Lord Voldemort_—and the rest of pure-bloods for the last half a year. She saw them more often than she saw the Weasleys. And even more so than she saw Harry. Something was going on with her best friend, but as Harry refused to talk about anything Voldemort related, all Hermione could do was guess what was going on.

Who asked her to open her mouth and honestly say she hadn't dressed up and that she wasn't wearing anything special when Ginny had joked about the amount of time she'd spent in front of the mirror?

Who told her that Lord Voldemort—_the Hood!_—would give her anything for Christmas?

He did give her an owl for her birthday, but it was already the end of the 26th of December, and she had not received anything from him.

_Even Lucius Malfoy had sent her a golden feather with an endless supply of dark green ink!_

She had created such a beautiful cup for the "Hood", a much improved replica of her first failed practical test, and she'd hoped he'd appreciate it.

Hermione told herself she wasn't disappointed.

_xxx_

**30th December**

Hermione collected her papers and looked at the still reading Lord Voldemort.

He was leaning back in the chair; one of his hands was lying calmly on the armrest and the other was holding the document. His fingers were long and slender, the nails manicured, and the hands looked like he did.

Elegant.

The dark blood-red shirt and the black vest were on even though it was eight in the morning, and Hermione felt out of place with her casual cloak that she had thrown on in the hurry when her ring burned at seven twenty.

As Voldemort continued silently reading, Hermione allowed herself a moment to just watch him.

He hadn't said anything about her gift, and Hermione did not know what she had expected.

_If he'd even opened it_, Hermione thought with a frown.

Did he like it, or did he throw it away?

He looked relaxed, but it seemed like he was concentrating. His pale-blue eyes were trained on the paper, giving it his full attention, and Hermione remembered for a second how it felt to have those eyes pierce her from just centimeters away.

That night, that horrible night in Paris, when Voldemort took over Magical France, she saw—_felt_—him so close that Hermione felt as if he had left a mental image behind.

She clearly remembered the way his lips moved, the way he looked at her, and the way his hand felt in her hair. _She remembered his heartbeat_.

Even if she had been drunk, she remembered everything with absolute clarity.

Even if it had happened almost a month ago.

One month since that crazy millisecond when she'd thought he'd kiss her had passed, and nothing changed.

And Hermione wasn't sure if she liked it.

Hermione had spent the morning after with millions of thoughts flying around her mind, wondering what would happen now. She'd spent hours wondering how he'd meet her when she had to return for the "barrier renewal", as she called it.

However, when Hermione—all nervous and sweating in anticipation, having barely slept—saw him in two days, he was back to his usual self, minus the hood.

As if nothing happened.

Well, nothing did happen—_except the whole terrible evening, and France being "Dark" now_—but Hermione had expected many things but not this.

He didn't even comment on her outburst.

Voldemort was back to business and to "Miss Granger" instead of "Hermione", and Hermione started to think it had been her very sick, drunk imagination.

The new looks aside, he was exactly the same Hood he'd used to be.

Hermione's internal debate was interrupted as the papers were put on the desk, and he had his pale eyes trained on her.

Hermione cast another quick look at the papers that were innocently laying there. She knew that they must be the reason behind why she had been called here. For the past forty-five minutes, Voldemort had been reading over those papers while she studied her notes for today's final lesson in the evening before the new semester started.

She hoped it was nothing bad.

"These documents contain evaluations of you by all of your professors as well as your examination results for the semester."

_Oh crap._

She tried so hard, but she had missed a whole year at Hogwarts, and even though she was a very bright witch, everyone had their limits.

But not her!

"Transfiguration—" Voldemort paused as he smirked a bit, and Hermione was ready to jump up from the anticipation. "—Outstanding."

_Yesss! I knew it!_

But the others?

Voldemort was now looking at her with a familiar tilt of his head to the right, his eyes serious but not angry.

"Charms …" A pause.

Did he do it on purpose?

_Stupid question_, Hermione thought as she saw one black brow rise.

"Outstanding."

_Yes!_

She knew it!

"Arithmancy …"

Yes, yes, drama pause done, was it Outstanding?

"Exceeds Expectations."

_What?_

Hermione didn't know why she felt so disappointed, but she did. Arithmancy was her favorite subject, and no matter how she had started her studies, she had planned on finishing as the best.

"Is that disappointment I see, Miss Granger?"

She should be feeling all happy and light, as Exceeds Expectations was great, but it wasn't perfect.

She had two perfect scores and one _imperfect_.

Hermione almost hit herself in the face when she felt angry, bitter tears of disappointment gather in her eyes; the mocking gaze of those pale eyes did not help in the least.

She would not be crying in front of Lord Voldemort because she had gotten Exceeds Expectations instead of Outstanding during her first semester in Illuminus University of Magic for her Arithmancy semester test!

Was she crazy?

_At least she passed._

Hermione still didn't know what Voldemort expected from her, but she hoped it would be enough.

_Enough for him, but not for her._

"You are _my_ magical ward—" Voldemort accented the word "my" and Hermione licked her dry lips. "—and I expect you to perform as such. The only mark I'll accept from you is Outstanding."

_Shit_.

"Indeed." Voldemort 's eyes had a sadistic glint in them, but he was smirking at Hermione's gaping expression.

What was he planning to do?

"If you ever get anything other than Outstanding in any subject you take, you will be punished."

Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble a bit as she remembered all his previous—_there weren't many, but they all were very memorable_—punishments. Gathering her courage, she looked him in the eye.

"What kind of punishment, sir?"

She was a Gryffindor and she was Hermione Granger!

She'd own her mistakes. It was _her_ who failed to perform as she should have!

Hermione thought that she deserved a portion of some healthy Crucios because she had been stupid enough to get an Exceeds Expectations.

_Maybe then my brain will switch on, with all the shocks running through the body._

"I will make you torture the professor who failed to teach properly."

Hermione's mouth opened in horror, and her eyes were staring at the now red eyes that weren't letting her gaze drop even for a second.

"And then …"

Hermione's palms were now sweaty with cold, sticky fear, and it was hard to swallow.

She didn't even doubt that he could. And he would.

Voldemort's bright eyes were drilling holes in her, and Hermione understood that the next punishment would be even more brutal. Would he kill the professor then? Or her?

Hermione pursed her lips and clenched her fists, when Voldemort leaned forward, his hand on the table—behind which he had been sitting all this time—and his red eyes were burning as they looked her over.

"And then you'll cook him."

_What?!_

Hermione couldn't close her mouth, and as she tried to find words, something clicked in her head.

_Not again!_

Voldemort leaned back into his huge leather chair and held a hand over his eyes, slightly holding his nose as he laughed, his blood-red shirt and black vest shaking slightly.

"You're just too amusing. It's like seeing a puppy and walking by without kicking it. The temptation is just too big."

_I'm not a puppy! Dear god, was it a joke?!_

"Come now, Miss Granger. Even Dark Lords have a sense of humor. We just don't use it very often." Voldemort was smirking slightly as he added, "Not everyone appreciates it."

Hermione held her lips tightly pursed as she was sure she'd laugh otherwise.

_She _did.

"If you get anything else than Outstanding, I will find an appropriate punishment. Don't worry about it."

Just when Voldemort finished his sentence, a knock sounded from the door, and after an "Enter" from the Dark Lord, Rabastan Lestrange walked in.

As the Death Eater was bowing, Hermione's mind suddenly came back to life.

_But wait, I had already received an Exceeds Expectations!_

As Rabastan took a seat after a nod to her, Voldemort levitated the papers to her lap before giving his full attention to the Death Eater.

As Hermione's quick eyes found Arithmancy and the result on the paper, she wanted to cry, laugh, and hit something. _Or someone._

_**"****I don't do drama pauses. They come naturally." **_

Smiling like an idiot, Hermione nodded respectfully to Lord Voldemort and slightly to Rabastan Lestrange before Apparating away.

She had all three Outstandings!

_I knew it!_

_xxx_

It was late evening of the 30th of December, and Hermione Granger was sitting in a large, very tastefully decorated room in Slytherin Manor.

Tomorrow would be a New Year's Eve, and Hermione thought about what she would be doing. After the whole Christmas _happiness_ at the Burrow, Hermione wasn't sure if she would go to the Weasleys or stay at her Venice apartment. Ginny told her that there would be no celebrations and that Ginny herself wished to stay at Hogwarts, as the gloomy, depressive atmosphere in the Burrow couldn't be healthy.

Hermione wanted to see the redheads, but she was just so confused, and she needed time for herself, away from everyone.

She needed to relax—_somehow_—before she went crazy.

Totally crazy, as crazy had many definitions, and sane she was _definitely _not.

Hermione's thought process was interrupted when Voldemort stepped away from his desk and walked over to the second chair, opposite of hers.

He had no vest on this time, and his shirt was blue, instead of black—_like Hermione thought at first_—when he sat down in the chair and light from the fireplace reached the silky material.

Did he always wear silk?

"Yes. You like it?"

Voldemort was leaning in the chair, his eyes amused and voice calm.

What was she supposed to say?

She shouldn't have even been thinking about the color of his ever-changing shirts in the first place. Or material.

Voldemort's pale eyes were watching her as he placed something on the table between them.

It was a folded letter, and Hermione was so curious as to what was in it that her hands started to itch.

"Take it with you and open it at home," Voldemort said in a pensive but slightly amused tone.

He was constantly amused when she was around, and Hermione did not know if it was a good or a bad thing.

She wasn't a clown!

"You're a Gryffindor. It's far more amusing that any clown could be."

Well …

"And what do I do with the letter, sir?" Hermione asked tentatively, reaching for the folded paper.

"Unless you've changed your nutrition intake, you would normally read it."

It _was _an idiotic question, and Hermione had to agree that she deserved the sarcastic remark.

_Changed your nutrition intake _…

Hermione wanted to think "smartass" but caught herself before she reserved herself a nice, refreshing Crucio.

"You may go."

Voldemort opened the book he had on the table and continued reading.

Getting up from her chair and gathering her stuff, Hermione couldn't wait to get home and read the letter.

She'd call him names at home.

_xxx_

"My Lord, we still have about sixty Mudbloods that refused your generous offer." Rabastan Lestrange was going through the files on the desk, sitting near Lucius and opposite his Lord.

After that euphoric evening in Paris, Rabastan found himself even busier than before.

After he had lowered the magical barrier from the outside—_but only for Magenta's tribune_—Rabastan went to deal with the wards for the French Ministry, so that his comrades could wreak havoc all they wanted.

He was a Charms and Transfiguration Master for a reason, and while the years in Azkaban did damage his mind—_a bit_—he wasn't all crazy. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts!

"And the rest?"

His Lord was calm as he looked over the reports. Lucius's financial part was done, and Malfoy could sit a bit more relaxed.

Rabastan, on the other hand, wasn't finished yet.

"The rest declare their loyalty to you, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort got up from his chair and walked over to the windows, looking at the almost full moon that hung in the sky.

It was so incredible seeing his Lord like that, in full power, human and immortal.

Rabastan went to Azkaban for his Master and now, seeing his Lord revert back to his original self—insanely powerful but charismatic and magnetic instead of simply frightening—he would go to hell and back, if only his Master wished so.

"Hang the Mudbloods on the posts around the French Ministry and alert Greyback." Lord Voldemort was now smiling as he turned to face them.

Rabastan's lips twitched in a sadistic smile as he understood what his Lord had in store for those filthy creatures.

"I want it done on New Year's Eve. Exactly at midnight."

Lucius and Rabastan exchanged quick glances—_they needed to act fast_—and when their Lord waved his hand at them, they Apparated away.

_xxx_

Looking at the almost full moon, Lord Voldemort tilted his head to his right and thought about his decision regarding his best Death Eaters.

After the whole fiasco with Severus—_his most trusted follower!_—Voldemort decided to change his tactics and revert back to his original plan.

He would be as he was—charismatic and powerful—but he would be more lenient with some of his most valuable servants.

They were that—just servants— but Lord Voldemort could not rule if he had no one to take care of idiotic, everyday, mundane things.

That was why he had allowed Lucius to escape without getting Cruciated today— _he didn't do anything wrong, but it was a tradition_—and he could already see the results.

Devotion and worshipping would be natural and honest, and all his important Death Eaters would serve him even better because they wanted to and not only because they were afraid of what he'd do to them otherwise.

They would want to see his more human side, and for this small attention, they would move mountains.

Just like his little eager Mudblood.

No more mistakes.

_xxx_

**31****st**** December**

**Five a.m.**

It was five o'clock in the morning and Hermione was already up. She just couldn't sleep; she kept turning left and right until her bed sheets resembled a battlefield for trolls.

After she had Apparated home to her beloved apartment, Hermione immediately opened the letter Voldemort had given her—_not even bothering to remove her cloak_—and she still did not know what to do.

She had been thinking all night, twirling the light paper with elegant script in her hands until she almost bore a hole in it.

She had barely slept, but she was so full of energy that it was driving her mad.

What was she supposed to do?

Hermione pursed her lips as she looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

That was not the question that bothered her the most.

The real question was what did she _want_ to do?

She had two options and the choice was hers.

Would she or would she not?

_xxx_

**One p.m.**

No, no, no!

Throwing all her clothes onto the floor, Hermione almost smashed the mirror as nothing sat right.

The blue dress was too simple, the green one was too short, and Hermione had nothing to wear, even though she had a closet full with best quality clothes.

She had felt something similar only once, in her fourth year, before the Yule Ball, and she could honestly say that now she was much more agitated and more picky.

Her heart just would not calm down, no matter what she tried to think about, and her hands were a bit sweaty. She couldn't eat as the food tasted of nothing. Hermione had already cleaned her apartment twice, tried to read her assigned books but could not find the necessary concentration, and now she was standing like an idiot, looking at her scattered things, not knowing what to do.

She couldn't even think straight!

What was wrong with her?

_xxx_

**Three p.m.**

She had showered—_again_—and drank another cup of tea—_her third_—and the time wasn't moving. It was standing still, mocking her with its unmoving arrows.

And she still didn't know what to do.

Hermione saw Cleo appear near the closed window, and jumping from her position on the floor—_picking a dress_—she opened the window and let the owl in.

Cleo had some sort of small parcel in her claws, and Hermione wondered who could it be from.

_Ginny?_

Taking the small box, her heart missed a beat as she saw familiar handwriting.

Hermione tried to open the box quickly, and when she couldn't, she wanted to smack herself for being so stupid.

"_**Open."**_

It still felt so _strange _…

Hermione didn't even know the Magical World existed before her eleventh birthday, and now she spoke Parseltongue.

Parseltongue was something so unique, s_o magical, _that only two people spoke it.

Voldemort and her.

Well, not her, but the Horcrux in her, but it was so silent, so invisible, that Hermione didn't even pay attention to it after six months.

_She_ spoke the language of snakes.

Six long months have passed since that day, and Hermione still could not believe what her life turned out to be.

It was so much more complicated, so impossibly difficult, so challenging, but it was magical.

Pushing the thoughts about the main reason for her internal suffering aside, Hermione opened a now big box, the Parseltongue having removed the Shrinking Charm.

With disbelieving eyes, Hermione reached out a hand and touched the material inside the box.

"_Wear this"_ was written on a small note, and a tremor ran up her spine before collecting itself somewhere in her stomach.

The fluttering feeling intensified, and Hermione tried to deny her own treacherous thoughts, but she knew it already.

She would.

_xxx_

It was five o'clock in the evening, and it was only one hour left before she would go and meet Lord Voldemort.

Hermione would go on her own will, without any Imperius Curse or other outer influences; she would go because she wanted to. She was curious.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Hermione blushed.

She had never looked like that before.

She wasn't a little girl anymore.

She was looking at a beautiful young woman with glittering eyes and a nervous smile on her face.

And that woman was her.

_xxx_

Hermione tried to tell herself she was so nervous because she was afraid, but that would be a lie.

She had been lying to herself for some time now, denying the traitorous thoughts that didn't leave her mind.

_She was crazy._

It began somewhere in September and intensified in October and November.

And in December, it just blew up into her face, not letting her deny it any longer.

She was attracted to Lord Voldemort.

Hermione had always been honest with herself.

_And she had already read all psychiatric books from St. Mungo's library._

She got access when she simply asked Voldemort for it—it _was_ a library!—and read all she found on mental illness.

Because she had to have one if she was attracted to someone so evil and psychopathic as Lord Voldemort.

He was a psychopath and a true sadist.

_He was so fucking bad that it was hard to imagine someone worse!_

He killed people on a whim and demanded full obedience from absolutely everyone. Hermione had yet to see Voldemort speak with anyone on equal terms, with respect. He was very polite—_too polite_—but he didn't respect anyone.

Everyone and everything was beneath him, and he was _so_ high on his horse called "Ego" that it was hard to see him through the stars.

Hermione noticed this annoying habit of picking up Lord Voldemort's language structure. It sounded weird, but she started asking questions the way Voldemort did.

Stating instead of asking.

It wasn't very difficult to ask normally, was it?

She really didn't like it and fought with it hard, but sometimes, they just seeped through. Together with sarcasm. Hermione spent so much time in his presence that it became normal for her.

She didn't have many people in her life.

Mom and dad—_Obliviated_—Harry—_who wanted to be left alone at the moment_—Ron—_in a coma_—the Weasleys … Ginny was at Hogwarts and couldn't meet often, and the others …

Well, Hermione didn't have many people, but those who she had, she treasured.

She had been and was a true friend.

But something in her mind was obviously not right, as at the same time, she wanted to know Voldemort better. She wanted to crack his puzzle.

She looked forward to her time with the Hood; she constantly—_and obsessively_—studied Voldemort's every movement and habits.

She knew more about Lord Voldemort's habits than she'd initially thought she did, and when she'd first realized it, she'd tried to write it off on precaution. Voldemort was like a predator you needed to constantly watch.

But it was more than that.

Voldemort was more than predator.

He was relaxed, he was always very polite, very elegant—_even as a monster_—and he was _so_ smart.

That was probably the biggest turn on.

His mind was so brilliant that when Hermione imagined how much good he could have brought to the world if he had chosen the title of Light Lord, she wanted to weep for the lost opportunities.

And he was such an interesting person that she wanted to research him closer.

And then his magic.

It was mind-blowing!

That's what probably happened to her mind, alongside with common sense, virtue, and sanity.

Blown out.

She wasn't in love, as she knew what it felt like with Ron and, at some degree, with Victor, and it wasn't love.

Hermione felt there was a huge difference between attraction and being in love.

She was obsessed with Voldemort, and she didn't know why.

He liked his tea with two sugars and milk, his red wine had to be on a sweeter note, and he liked minty chocolate.

He preferred darker and more neutral tones for furniture but liked his clothes in many colors—she had seen him wear dark red, blue, green, silver, black, grey, but never pink or orange.

He was very elegant and had a thing for vests and silk.

He sat in a chair often with the same pose—with legs crossed and his head on one hand. Or leaning back.

He read a lot. Really a lot.

He played with the wand, letting it hang on his—_always_— ring finger.

He tilted his head more to the right that to the left.

He smirked often, smiled very rarely, but his eyes had never been empty.

The desire to live, to learn more, to be absolutely in power was burning in Voldemort's eyes no matter if they were pale blue or bright red.

He had beautiful white teeth, and, at first, Hermione refused to acknowledge she even noticed it.

His handwriting was exactly like he was—elegant.

He preferred quills with dark green ink.

His scent was very cool with a bit of a wooden note, but not spicy; it was like breathing in fresh air in the night—cold and crispy, but so clean and toxic. It was elegant, just like the rest of him.

His magical signature was purple, bright, shining purple.

As Hermione researched the topic—_why would Voldemort choose purple and not green?_—she found out that one did not choose the color of one's signature. It was magic itself, showing its true color, and one did not control it.

The specter went from pale yellow— _the weakest_—to bright orange—_the strongest_.

Purple signature did not normally exist, but it was explained that in case the magic was unique and extremely powerful, it would take a color it deemed right. Dumbledore had had bright pink—it was written down in one of the catalogs she went through.

And Voldemort's was deep but bright purple. A much darker shade of pink, but it was the same color, or was it not?

He liked ties.

Hermione had seen him wear a tie a few times and it _did_ look good.

Hermione believed that after so much time as a spirit and then later as a creature, Voldemort was now making up for the lost time, when before he didn't care. Not that he had had a body to dress up.

Unlike now.

_She wasn't blind._

These was his true looks, as he would have looked at thirty something hadn't he started his transformations. Hermione had to often remind herself just how old Voldemort mentally was.

His new image was doing miracles to the public, and Hermione had to agree that he looked much better than the snake-face he used to be. People saw this handsome, insanely powerful wizard, and they wanted to be near him. The support of almost every old, pure-blood family completed the image, and many witches and wizards willingly allowed themselves to be drawn towards Voldemort.

But it weren't just his looks that made her heart flutter, it was his impossibly magnetic personality.

She had cared for the Hood even when she'd thought he looked like his old self.

He was a murderer and a psychopath, but when he didn't show this side of his, Hermione now only saw the Hood.

Hermione hated herself, but there was nothing she could do.

She wanted Voldemort dead, but she wanted time in his company.

She hated what he stood for, but she wanted his attention.

She knew who he really was, and she still wanted his approval.

She wanted it so much.

Her heart went one way, and her mind the other.

She knew what was wrong and what was right, but he was like your biggest temptation that you simply could not resist.

The apple of Eden.

She couldn't lie to herself anymore. She tried, but it didn't work.

Hermione knew and understood everything, and she'd kill herself before she'd join Voldemort's cause, but she could do nothing as she wanted to be in his presence.

He was giving her a choice, and Hermione understood that it was one of those rare moments, when he was sincere. He was giving her a choice to step aside and, with this, telling her that he would not approach her for any other reason but the barrier in her head.

Or he was giving her a choice to step closer.

To take this one step and look the abyss in the eye, like on the cliff, so long ago, when he held her above the raging waters.

She had been balancing on a thin cord for so long; the only safety net was torn away with the inhuman face gone.

Taking the letter into hands, Hermione read it again before putting it on the night table, and twisting her ring, Hermione whispered _**"Morsmordre!"**_ and disappeared two minutes later.

_xxx_

_If you're still interested in my musical taste, I am willing to show you._

_Either you're at Slytherin Manor at six o'clock in the evening or you're not._

_If you are, then look appropriately._

_This is a one-time offer._

_The choice is yours._

_No punishments and no rules apply._

_Choose carefully._

_xxx_

Hermione was standing near the window, looking at the beautiful view outside.

Voldemort was nowhere to be seen when she had arrived two minutes ago, and Hermione kept twisting the golden ring on her index finger because she needed to do something.

Hermione saw in reflection the door open, and she met a pair of piercing, pale-blue eyes.

They were both looking at the same reflecting surface, just like the first time she saw him tête-à-tête.

_When she tried to kill herself._

How had the picture and the emotions changed!

Voldemort took a step into the room, and Hermione tore her gaze from the reflection and looked at the real figure of the Dark Lord.

Dark, heavy velvety cloak that was blood-red on the inside—_silk_—a dark red vest and black trousers; dark, polished shoes; and a black, light shirt with a strange runic symbol instead of a tie.

The contrast with his pale-blue eyes was astonishing.

The eyes were watching her, and then Voldemort offered her his arm, not like he usually did, when Apparating them, but he offered his elbow.

Hermione was so thankful her hands weren't sweating now, as when she took his elbow, her fingertips glided over the smooth velvet, and she didn't want to leave wet fingerprints.

He was so close.

"Maybe there _is_ a reason you should be in Gryffindor …"

Was he really telling her that she looked good?

"You may be many things, but ugly you are not."

Well …

If she ever heard a compliment…

"_**Don't let go."**_

Hermione tightened her hold on his elbow, the velvet under her fingers smooth.

Looking Lord Voldemort in the eyes, she hissed back.

"_**I won't."**_

She didn't add "sir", and she saw in his eyes that she had been correct when she assumed no rules meant no rules.

_No sirs for tonight._

_But only for tonight._

xxx

_a/n Your feedback is much appreciated! I hope you liked this huge chapter. Waves!_


	15. The Fire and The Music

_A/N Hi! _

_Before we continue, I think I need to issue a warning._

_**So here is a warning. **_

_**Story is rated M.**_

_**I do not condone violence or rape. I respect human rights, and I do not believe in blood supremacy or skin color. I'm not a maniac and I am not a psychopath. But since I write Voldemort's POV (Point of View)- who is all those things- then the thoughts written will be respectively. He's not a fluffy bunny but a Dark Lord.**_

_**I'm sorry, but he's not the best role-model. Hermione is 18 in the story.**_

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. They made me so happy! You wanted Voldemort's and Hermione's POVs the most, so here they are :)  
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_This chapter I had to break in half, as it was pretty big already, and I haven't even started on the main scenes…so yeah, the second half should be soon. Haven't written it yet, but I write fast._

_Relent1ess- you want to see Draco? I find that I have a lot of space in the story that I can fill with challenging requests :) If you want Draco, I'll give you Draco in the next chapters :P_

_ElisaMirror- That had to be my most favorite review in all the years. Thank you!_

_Swiftielove- thank you :) _

_I would ask you to be lenient with me, as Geography and Time-zones are not my best subjects._

_I wanted to update yesterday, but the website was down. So, here is the chapter._

_Hope you'll enjoy it! Please review!  
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_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Fifteen

They landed on a high point.

A thin, rocky peak was all there was below her feet, and Hermione almost screamed, but the velvet under her fingertips was reassuring, and she opened her for a moment closed eyes.

She was standing on the highest mountain peak she had ever seen, and all around her was so small and vague; the clouds were below, and the full moon was so close that if she tried, Hermione felt she'd reach it with her fingertips.

"Qomolangma."

_Mount Everest._

His voice was smooth, just like the velvet under her hand, and Hermione looked up, meeting his gaze.

She was standing on the highest point on Earth, holding tight to Lord Voldemort, dressed in a red, gorgeous dress and a black cloak—colors absolutely symmetric to the Dark Lord—the heels of her blood-red shoes were hanging in the air, and there was just abyss below.

"You listen to music here?" Hermione asked quietly, looking around at the other smaller peaks and snow everywhere.

Merlin!

Pale eyes were watching her closely, the irises almost the same color as the ice on the tips of the mountains, and Hermione shivered.

It _was_ cold.

"This is a mid-Apparation point that I particularly enjoy. Nothing is higher on this planet."

Hermione swallowed when she imagined the preciseness of Apparition one had to have in order to get here. It had to be millimetric, and it was so far away from England!

"Where did you learn to Apparate like that?" Hermione dared to ask, looking Voldemort in the eyes, searching for signals if she was doing everything right, or if she would fly down in a second.

With him, you never knew.

"Do you _want_ to fly?" He was looking at her with curious eyes.

Hermione held tighter to the smooth velvet under her palm, her heart beating so fast and erratically, that it was a bit hard to breathe. The altitude wasn't really helping, and combined with the proximity of Voldemort's tall figure, Hermione couldn't get enough air.

It was hard to remind herself just _who _she was so tightly holding to.

This was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord of Great Britain and France. He was the only power in those countries.

Voldemort was now not only magical but also political and everyday life in both countries. The people—_the sheep!_—bought everything he fed them through their governments and press.

Hermione tried to remind herself just why maybe it hadn't been such a bright idea to "go out" with Voldemort, no matter how tempting.

It wasn't their usual lesson and Hermione could feel it.

She didn't know if she dared to imagine just how she could end the evening.

As she thought about just _who _she could end her evening with, a tremor ran her spine.

She needed to be hospitalized, to be thrown in a ward for the mentally ill, next to the Longbottoms.

The next second, her lungs were filled with oxygen, and Hermione almost took a step back at the sensations of the Dark Lord's magic surrounding them now.

"There is nothing to be afraid of if you know what you're doing."

Voldemort's lips were smooth and pale pink; their elegant but cruel shape was just centimeters away from her face when Hermione lifted her gaze to look him in the eye.

Hermione could only stare into his eyes as he lifted one hand to touch her cheek, his fingers warm and beautifully shaped, the fingertips soft and smooth.

_Their first skin to skin contact._

Hermione licked her lips, the blood-red lipstick not moisturizing the tender flesh enough, and she saw Voldemort's eyes drop lower, letting go of her gaze.

He was looking at her lips, and the pink tongue that again peeked out.

Hermione felt as if she was electrocuted from the inside; the blood in her veins was running so fast, her heart pumping it with much more force than needed; and her insides were twisting in anticipation.

The hand on her cheek wasn't helping.

She saw Voldemort's mouth twitch and then he leaned closer.

Hermione forgot how to breathe.

She didn't know—_it was a lie_—what she had expected, but as she felt his lips near her ear, almost touching the shell of her ear, Hermione swallowed hard.

His hair—styled back but allowing the winds to play with short black strands—looked even silkier from such close distance, and Hermione closed her eyes.

He smelled even better when he was so close.

"Do you want to fly?"

His voice was as smooth and silky as the robe under her now sweating palms when he repeated the question, his nose touching her earlobe now with its tip.

"Not alone." Hermione didn't believe she dared to tell Lord Voldemort she wanted him as her ride.

White teeth were revealed in an amused smile, and the pale, squinted eyes weren't cruel as he looked at her with his head now tilted back a bit.

"Brave, aren't we?"

_And insane._

"We are many things, but funky we are not."

There, she said it! Using Voldemort's own words from before, plural instead of singular, her voice confident but lower than usual, looking directly into the pale eyes.

"If we are so sure …"

His laugh wasn't creepy, and the next second she was in the air, flying around and over the snow-covered mountains before speeding up and Apparating in the air, the velvet under her fingers smooth.

_xxx_

Hermione felt the solid surface under her feet, and she let a disbelieving laugh escape her mouth.

_Now that had been flying!_

Hermione was not afraid of heights—_not that much_—but the speed and the altitude of the short flight she had had with Voldemort made her knees tremble a bit in aftershocks.

The air was humid and warm, and Hermione wondered for a second why she and Voldemort had needed the cloaks—_aside from the visit to Mount Everest_—when icy wind suddenly blew from all directions, lifting the sand from the ground, and the temperatures dropped.

It was warm but cold; it was windy but silent; water was running in beautiful pirouettes—_on moving sand in a desert!_—and fire flames erupted from glowing red holes in the ground, illuminating the dark area.

And they were standing on a glowing stone road that led to a big rock that towered over the sands.

Where were they?

Hermione had never seen anything like this before, and her curious gaze met the pale eyes as they kept watching her; her hand was still on the Dark Lord's arm as they stood in a middle of a desert. They were close enough to feel the heat of the body, but not enough to fully touch.

"We're in India," Voldemort actually replied to her silent question.

_India._

"Are we going to Manasa University?" Hermione let the pause hang as she refused to add "sir".

"Yes, because there is only _one_ place in India where you could listen to _music,_ and it has to be the University that specializes in _Necromancy_." Voldemort's head was tilted to his right, but he wasn't angry; his voice was calm and a bit sarcastic. He was the most relaxed she had ever seen him, and Hermione had seen him a lot.

Hermione had to agree it sounded idiotic when she thought about it.

Why did she always ask stupid questions with Voldemort around and the smart ones when he was away?

"I have already told you no rules apply, and I meant it. I will allow you to think and say what you want without inflicting any serious pain, but only until midnight. And no, I will not punish you tomorrow for whatever you do today. Nor will I discipline you any time later." The Dark Lord was looking at her gaping expression with one dark raised eyebrow.

It was too good to be true.

"And the catch?"

It couldn't be that simple with the Heir of Slytherin.

"No catch." Voldemort tilted his head to the right and a corner of his mouth moved up a tiny bit.

Well …

"What midnight?"

India was ahead of Britain by five hours, so it was rather necessary to clear it up.

The pale lips twitched again as Voldemort nodded.

He approved.

"French."

"Why French and not British?" Hermione asked with squinted eyes, looking at the tall form of Lord Voldemort.

"Because I thought we'd finish our night in Paris," Voldemort actually answered again, both dark brows raised a bit. "I cannot think of a better city for us."

All kinds of inappropriate thoughts almost made it past her death grip on them, and Hermione mentally slapped herself.

"What do you mean by 'serious pain'?" Hermione decided to avoid the topic of her own fanatical mind.

No wonder she liked him. She was also a psycho.

Did he think Crucio was serious, but everything else was not?

Did he mean pain as in pain, or pain while other … activities?

_I'm not only mentally sick, but apparently, I'm a pervert as well_, Hermione thought as she saw Voldemort actually smile at the question.

That smile did _not_ make her insides burn!

It was better to ask before she said the wrong thing to a psychopath and a sadist in a middle of a desert somewhere in India. Not that location mattered …

"_Here lies the mummy of one brave but insane witch by the name of Hermione Granger" _would be written on the tomb somewhere around here in between the sands.

_If he gave my cold body a tomb at all._

He'd just let her lie on the ground, the bright dress drawing attention from scavengers.

"And the heels," Voldemort added with a light smile as Hermione gaped at him again.

Hermione could already imagine her body in the beautiful red dress on the ground.

She called him a psychopath and a sadist, and he let her?

"And I don't see anything bad in being both. We cannot all be very sane, can we? If you're quite done imagining your last resort, we should get going. We are here for a reason."

The jab was intentional, and Hermione mentally sneered—_she looked like a Lady, she'd behave like one_—and was about to move her high-heel clad foot when the question just popped out of her mouth.

"Do you like high-heels?"

Hermione swallowed hard when she saw the Dark Lord lean closer again.

"I haven't tried them on, if that's what you're asking."

_Smartass._

"That I am." Voldemort was now looking her in the eye, and Hermione almost choked on her saliva.

_No rules at all …_

_What a New Year's Eve!_

She had Lord Voldemort all to herself for several hours and she could ask whatever she wanted without a crowd being blown up or twitching on the floor after a nasty Cruciatus.

"Exactly."

If he was allowing her so much freedom, she'd be a fool not to use it.

"That is not what I meant with the question."

He was allowing her full freedom in her own mind and speech today, and Hermione just had to use the opportunity to learn more about Lord Voldemort.

"Then ask the questions that way, so they couldn't be interpreted in any other way but the one you want."

The Dark Lord took a step forward on the illuminated stone-road, and as Hermione was about to open her mouth and ask again, he turned to look at her, the fire from the stones making his pale-blue eyes shine.

"I do. Now come."

Smiling lightly, Hermione followed.

_xxx_

As they approached the stone, Hermione noticed four glowing symbols carved onto the surface.

She had seen them before, in one of the Dark Arts books that Voldemort had made her read.

Well, _made_ was not the correct word, but …

_Those were the elements she saw in the desert!_ Hermione realized with a start.

The flowing creeks—Water—the dancing sand—Earth—the sudden silent Wind, and the erupting Fire.

And Voldemort himself had one such symbol on his shirt, instead of a tie.

He could control an element!

Hermione's eyes landed on the Dark Lord's outfit, and she understood immediately which element was his.

He was fire.

Nodding in approval, Voldemort conjured a ball of fire on his palm, and Hermione watched in fascination how the flame danced between his fingers, slowly swinging left and right in the now strong wind.

The flame suddenly turned purple—_his signature_—and he pressed the burning hand on the stone, on the fire symbol.

The next second, Hermione felt warm fingers around her wrist, and as she was about to think that Voldemort was holding her hand, she started to burn.

The flame was running up her arm, to her chest, and as it reached her face, Hermione was ready to scream when she felt the cool fingers on her wrist add more pressure.

"Open your eyes." The cool hand and the fact that she didn't feel any pain allowed Hermione to breathe; the calm voice and the elegant scent so near made her finally open her eyes—she didn't even quite know when she'd closed them.

The fire was now gone, and as a smirking Voldemort stepped aside, the stone with symbols disappeared as well.

_My god!_

_xxx_

The cone-shaped hole was at least two hundred meters deep, and its surface was so smooth that Hermione thought for a second that someone spilled quicksilver on its surface. It was shimmering with silvery light, and with the otherwise dim illumination from the above glowing stars, it looked like someone stole a piece of the moon and caged it inside the hole. And Hermione stood in the middle of the wall, in a dimly illuminated corridor with transparent walls, taking in all the beauty.

The balconies on the whole perimeter of the cone were very few and they all were dimmed, and only the burning element symbols could be visible on the parapets made of what could only be caged fire, water, wind, and earth.

"What is this?"

Her voice sounded so breathless and so awed that Hermione had to actually clear her throat.

"You wanted to know which music I like." Voldemort was looking at her, and Hermione had to blink her eyes a few times.

Where were they? She had never even read about it!

Hermione was sure this was something not very normal she was seeing.

Elemental magic belonged to the Dark Arts, and there were very few elementals in the whole world.

From what Hermione knew, one was born with affinity for one element, but it didn't automatically make one an elemental. There weren't many elementals because one had to suppress the element's natural power to one's will and magic. Looking at the dimmed balconies, Hermione came to conclusion that probably all wizards and witches who could control an element were here now.

Was it some kind of secret order?

The atmosphere was like one in a theater, and Hermione really could not understand where she was.

The balconies were illuminated by four different colors—mostly deep blue and silvery-white—a few green and only two were red.

She needed to clear her head!

"What is this place?" Hermione finally asked as something appeared from the ground in the corridor they were standing, overlooking the cone. Hermione watched something materialize and with a pleasant surprise she saw a normal house-elf.

A small creature—_Hermione swore if she gave him a hat, he'd resemble Dobby_—dressed in bright red clothes with fire instead of hair was standing before them, his burning head bowing deeply.

Hermione had seen Voldemort and house-elves interact before—_the_ _burning head was so cruel!_—and it didn't look so good for the elf.

_She should be happy if Voldemort didn't kill him in the end,_ Hermione thought with pursed lips.

Like he had done a few days ago.

The house-elf—_Tinky_—drank a lot, and that day she had dropped the tray in Lord Voldemort's lap—_like she had done twice with Hermione during the last month_—and even before the hot liquid touched the black pressed trousers, a green light illuminated the room.

He had killed a house-elf and didn't even blink.

It was always hard to remember just what kind of monster was hidden behind a beautiful image.

As Hermione looked at the Dark Lord, she almost got a heart-attack.

His head was bowed a bit in the greeting—_to the house-elf!_—and Hermione wished she had a camera.

Voldemort was showing respect to someone, and she simply couldn't believe it.

Was she dreaming?

"We welcome you, Lord Voldemort. May your fire burn."

The voice wasn't _simple_ and nervous, like all house-elves had around the Dark Lord, it was harsh and confident. It was fiery. It was magical.

Hermione had never heard such voice before, and with an uncomfortable wince, she realized it must have been not a house-elf.

_And Voldemort had heard all her thoughts._

And the _not-elf _had heard all her thoughts, Hermione realized as they both were both looking at her with similar expressions on their faces.

_Talk about embarrassment …_

"It is my pleasure."

The Dark Lord said in a calm but serious voice, looking at the not-elf, and there was something in his tone she had never heard before. There was no arrogance.

This was the most un-arrogant tone Hermione had ever heard from Voldemort.

And he wasn't sneering, smirking, or looking mockingly, like he did often with everyone around him. He looked serious but relaxed.

As if talking to someone he knew and did not want to kill …

_Who was it?_ Hermione wondered as she watched the not-elf bow to Voldemort again.

Today was a day so full of surprises regarding one shady figure in her life that Hermione wasn't sure if she knew Lord Voldemort at all.

And she thought she knew at least something about him.

Hermione wondered about what the next surprise would be.

_Maybe one day he would wake up and decide to become a Light Lord?_

"I wouldn't count on that."

The arrogance was back, and though he was smiling with all those white teeth showing on that refined face, she didn't miss the mockery underlying his tone or present in his expression.

Hermione saw not-house-elf disappear, and Voldemort offered his elbow again.

"Come."

The silvery light was making his eyes even paler, and they glowed in the dim atmosphere, a contrast to everything around them.

Her high-heels clicked on the hard ground as she walked closer to the Dark Lord and took his offered elbow.

"Who was it?" Hermione asked tentatively, still not used to the fact that she could ask and say what she wanted. However, if she thought about it, Voldemort had recently started to comment her thoughts less and less.

"The house-elf?" Voldemort's voice was laughing and amused, and Hermione smiled nodding as they climbed the narrow stairs that led to one of the dimmed balconies.

"It was the element, Hermione."

_It was what?!_

He called her Hermione …

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione stopped when Voldemort stopped near red curtains that led to the balcony, and her disbelieving eyes were watching Voldemort's face to see if it was one of his usual jokes.

"It was Fire." His voice was serious and his eyes squinted a bit as he touched the curtain and led a still disbelieving Hermione in. He wasn't joking.

She met the Fire itself and called it a house-elf.

_What was wrong with her? _What would it—_the Fire!_—think?

"It doesn't matter. Don't worry yourself about things that do not matter."

Hermione felt Voldemort's arms around her cloak-clad shoulders, and the next second her cloak disappeared.

He was such gentlemen when he wanted to be!

For a short moment, she marvelled at the beauty of the dress again with its red material cascading down from from the thin, sparkling ring around her neck and leaving the shoulders and hands bare.

"How do you know if you worry about things that matter or not?" Hermione asked while taking a seat in a huge red armchair, overlooking the whole cone-shaped hole. There were only two armchairs on the whole balcony, and with sick anticipation, Hermione understood they would be completely alone.

"You don't." Voldemort said simply as he sat next to her in the second red armchair.

_What was the point then?_ Hermione thought in irritation, and even opened her mouth to ask, when Voldemort leaned to the right, and she felt his silky shirt on her naked arm.

"I do."

Hermione wished to say something nasty—_just because she could!_—but the quicksilvery surface started moving. She leaned a bit forward, watching the silvery waves and missed the satisfied and, for a second, bright-red eyes on the handsome face of the Dark Lord.

_xxx_

_Schizophrenic or masochistic …_

_Well, at least not the Stockholm syndrome..._

His companion was sipping the wine and thinking all those wonderful thoughts—_he rather liked how everything was fulfilling by itself_—and while some thoughts were simply naïve, some were more entertaining.

When he thought about it, he had to agree that she wasn't very normal, but normal was overrated.

The girl read so much on psychiatry, trying to understand what was going on with her own mind and body, and it was simply delicious watching her analyze her emotions when he knew already why she was feeling what she was feeling.

No one could resist _him_.

She had her weak points, and it wasn't his fault if he was the impersonation of all those little turn-ons.

While at first he found it simply hilarious, now he found it beneficial and _interesting_.

Lord Voldemort cut a small piece of the tender chicken fillet with a sharp knife, before elegantly putting it—_using a silver fork_—into his mouth.

He wasn't a pig.

Slowly chewing the tender meat—_he demanded perfection even from the chicken_ _and even if it was already dead_—he looked at the now relaxed Mudblood.

_Hermione_.

It had taken her an hour to finally relax—_he behaved_—and she was now sipping on the sweet, red wine.

As a pink tongue peeked out to collect a drop of wine from her bottom lip, Voldemort squinted his eyes in pleasure.

She was smart and she was beautiful. A perfect package in a perfect body.

_He wasn't blind._

Nor was he stupid.

She'd choke on the tender chicken—_he liked the crust_—if he voiced even one of his thoughts.

He could shape her to be a perfect vessel for his soul—_if he demanded perfection from the dead chicken, then it should be obvious he would demand perfection from the carrier of a part of his own soul_—and the endless possibilities that opened then …

Talking about chicken ...

It wasn't very often when he thought about carnal pleasures.

He enjoyed sex, but he didn't need it.

He wasn't a horny teenager—_even when he was a teenager, he was more busy with the Dark Arts and murders than paying attention to all the willing witches around him_—and while he appreciated beauty, he didn't feel the need to bend the Mudblood over the table, throwing the meal and glasses onto the floor, and simply fuck her.

He could.

And she'd enjoy it.

But he didn't want to. It wasn't interesting. He wanted her to beg for it.

He found it funny that Hermione thought in the beginning that he would force himself on her.

He didn't do rape.

He had tried it a few times in his youth—_if you didn't try, you wouldn't know if you like it or not_—and it was so pathetic and simple that it was hard to find any pleasure it in. It was interesting from some perspectives—_how long the bitch struggled before giving in or to do exactly what the woman was most afraid of and see her reactions_—but it was nothing to think about.

It wasn't to his flavour.

He dominated everyone around him without even lifting a finger, so why would he force himself on some filthy, undeserving creature? If just to hear the screams?

He was above everyone, and that was why he preferred to use Crucio when he wanted to hear some refreshing screams.

He didn't want to touch that dirt. He saw all the dirt from their previous encounters, and he didn't want to touch that.

Magic or no magic, but he had already lost his nose once.

Syphilis was syphilis, and Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin, would not be syphilitic.

He didn't want used products.

He simply did not feel any need to run around with his cock on fire, and while he did not plan on having any sort of physical relationship with anyone, now he wasn't so sure anymore.

If he decided to seriously fuck anyone, it would be a part of himself, sealed in a pretty package.

It would be something he hadn't tried before—_he had had a wild youth full of Dark Arts and weird acquaintances around him_—even if only for a learning experience.

He was so crude and corny today, but then again, it was his birthday.

If not today, then when?

And today was the first time he would spend his birthday here without having to look at Albus Dumbledore's bright pink signature opposite of him.

The usually blue-lit balcony was now black, and it meant that the owner of the balcony was fully dead.

He had checked already—_as soon as they stepped in_—but it was such a pleasure simply to just watch the empty spot where usually a bright blue element shined that he couldn't resist.

Had the balcony stayed blue—_Dumbledore had to be the complete opposite of him even in the elemental magic_—he would have been _so_ pissed that he'd have killed the Mudblood—_Hermione_—on the spot. Element died only with its Master, and if the element stayed lit, it could have meant only one thing.

That was how the old fool knew he had been alive all those long thirteen years; his hypocritical old ass—_Dark Arts are not good!_—sat here, in the cave full of Dark Magic, listening to magical music, while also controlling one element with a mix of Dark Arts and Legilimency. Too bad no fighting—_the not talking part was perfect_—was allowed between anyone present.

He hated Dumbledore so much that the glass he was holding exploded, and Voldemort saw Hermione flinch.

Her pretty head with long, dark brown curly hair, turned a bit to look at the same black balcony he had been looking all this time, and he saw the wheels turn in her head.

Her pursed red lips told him she had understood whom the balcony used to belong to even without reading her thoughts, and Voldemort smiled.

His Horcrux had seen enough idiocy in those seventeen years it spent with Potter to last a life-time.

Hermione was a much better choice.

_xxx_

Hermione was trying not to pay attention to the elegant hands that held the utensils with perfection; she tried to not notice how the beautiful fingers closed over the thin glass full with sweet wine and, most of all, tried not to notice the lips as they closed over a small piece of tender chicken.

She was such a sick individual and she never even knew it.

The slow music was flowing from the cone, and Hermione closed her eyes at the beautiful violin tones.

They sounded …

If there is one word she had started to hate, it was the word "elegant".

No matter what Voldemort did, he did it elegantly. He was so elegant that Hermione had to slap herself mentally when she thought if he was _always_ so elegant.

"Yes."

_Shit._

"Come now, Hermione. There are only two of us here." Voldemort was smiling slightly as he drank his wine, and Hermione could feel a blush spread over her heated cheeks.

They had been here for only over an hour, and the main show hadn't started yet—_or so Voldemort had said_—and after the most delicious dinner she had ever had, she let her thoughts free, forgetting for a second just _who_ was sitting opposite of her, leaning slightly in the armchair while drinking his wine.

The dishes were gone, and Hermione felt as if some sort of safety net was removed. Voldemort's eyes were shining, and Hermione didn't want to know what he was thinking of.

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

Voldemort had known everything from the very beginning, and he didn't humiliate her with this topic, not even once. He never even commented on it, and Hermione did not know how to behave.

She had never dealt with someone like him!

While she loved Ronald, she couldn't watch him eat, and she definitely wasn't obsessing about his hands and appearance, nor was she thinking every minute about how close Ron was sitting. Hermione felt angry tears in her eyes as sick realization spread in her stomach.

She wanted Voldemort much more than she had ever wanted anyone, Ron Weasley included.

How could she feel anything for Voldemort, when she had Ron?

How Voldemort could be so charming—_so perfect_—but so evil at the same time?

"Hermione, Hermione."

Hermione's internal beatings were brought to a halt as the Dark Lord slowly said her name twice.

She could only stare into his pale-blue eyes as he put both elbows on the glass table and put his chin on his cupped hands before him.

"I am unique."

Well … talk about ego.

"And what about your ego, Hermione?" Voldemort smiled slightly at her disbelieving expression.

"I don't have an ego."

"Don't you?" The Dark Lord's voice was lightly mocking, and one black, perfectly-shaped brow was raised as he got up and walked over to the parapet, before leaning on it a bit, his back to the cone.

Hermione watched the black silk shimmer lightly, the now red symbol instead of a tie was glowing, and he looked so sinful that Hermione had to lick her dry lips.

"I remember one pretty, little witch cry pretty, little tears when she thought she had gotten anything other than Outstanding for her tests just yesterday. Do you know this witch, Hermione, hm?" Voldemort was now slowly walking towards her, and Hermione's heart was going to explode with anticipation.

He called her "pretty".

And he was now standing behind her.

Hermione almost jumped from tension when she felt a hand slowly play with her long curls, twisting one curl on a finger before releasing.

"How can you have such silky, curly hair when it's brown?" The question was said in a pensive but light voice, and Hermione was about to state that color of hair had nothing to do with the curls, when she understood what Voldemort was telling her.

She wasn't turned on, Hermione tried to tell herself, but she could feel _something_ coil inside her stomach when one hand gripped her hair in a tight hold and tilted her head back.

"How can your lips be so red when they are so full?"

She was now looking at the standing Voldemort, her head tilted back, the elegant hand still holding her hair in a fist.

Hermione couldn't breathe from the tension, and with horror, she understood that her underwear was now soaked with arousal.

Just how sick was she exactly?

"Would you like to find out?" Voldemort was now looking her in the eye, and Hermione understood that it was it.

If she said yes, he would show her. Right here and right now.

Hermione reserved herself a nice spot in the deepest of Hells when her mouth opened and a "yes" was breathed out. She couldn't even find her voice.

Maybe if she tried him once, she'd never want him again.

"I highly doubt that, but we will see." Voldemort's lips were now near hers and Hermione closed her eyes.

Fuck it all. She wanted him to kiss her. She'd punish herself at home, now was not the time.

"Later." Soft lips almost touched hers before Voldemort released her hair and stepped away, sitting back into his armchair.

Hermione had to blink a few times to drive away the arousal and tension, and when her enlarged pupils met calm but twinkling pale eyes, she wanted to seriously hurt him.

A wink, and the Dark Lord turned in the chair, facing the cone now.

"The show is about to start. We don't want to miss it, do we, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and with trembling hands, she took the offered wine glass.

She'd kill him if she could.

"You can always try." His voice wasn't serious, but something told her he wasn't joking.

As Hermione was about to ask what he meant with it, the lights in the cone disappeared, and everything was engulfed in darkness with only bright colors of the elements illuminating the whole place.

_xxx_

_a/n And to be continued...I hope you liked the chapter. Please review and let me know! Waves!_


	16. The Second Wish

_a/n_

_Hi!_

_Now that it a mega quick update. I have written over 70 thousand words in a bit over a month…my fingers hurt and my brain is a bit numb already._

_I cannot promise a fast update, as the next chapters are not that easy to write from several POVs. This chapter is also the last "light" chapter for a while, as the story is actually dark, and I need to keep it that way. _

_I would like to thank everyone who reviewed and shared their thoughts with me. _

_While I do not chase after reviews, I do want to hear your honest opinion, as I want to improve. I mean, I give you chapters so quickly, that you could spend a minute and just tell me what you liked the most, or what you'd like to see in the next chapters. Or what you didn't like. Please?_

_In this chapter, you get an answer to the question as to why I gave Voldemort blue eyes- no matter how pale, they're still blue. That is, if you still haven't guessed… ;) _

_This is my favorite chapter so far...grins_

_Music that Hermione listens to: Nero by Two Steps From Hell (I really suggest you listen to it, it's magnificent) _

_Beta: Serpent In Red _

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Sixteen

"Where is my birthday gift, Hermione?"

Hermione sat in her—_it was a bit closer to the parapet_—bright red chair, leaning a bit forward and looking at the illuminated figures as they sat on the chairs inside the cone on the very bottom.

Voldemort's sudden question caught her unprepared—_didn't he say the show was about to start?_—and as she turned her head back and to the left, she almost touched his nose with hers.

He was that close.

Pale-blue eyes were only a few centimeters away, and Hermione noticed thin darker rings around the pale irises, the long black lashes, and perfectly-shaped eyebrows, before her gaze dropped lower, to look at the straight nose and sensual lips.

While Hermione did know it was his birthday today—_Harry mentioned it while they were Horcrux hunting_—she didn't get him anything, as she still didn't know what he had done with the cup she had created for him for the Christmas.

_She wasn't some sort of dog that brought bones for its master so he could throw them away._

Even though she was more than sure that Voldemort had heard everything she was thinking, he was still silently watching her from a close distance, leaning a bit forward on his right elbow.

His posture was as elegant as was his scent.

"Why would I get you anything if you still haven't told me anything about the cup I have given you for Christmas?"

She was Hermione Granger and if she could do and say anything, she'd use it.

She wasn't some sniveling idiot.

One black eyebrow rose and a corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched up.

Hermione would have sneered, but his face was so close, and as the white—_straight_—teeth were revealed again, she pursed her lips.

"And what about the cup?"

Well …

She almost said "How about a thank you", but it was just too stupid.

Voldemort didn't even thank the element—_so embarrassing!_—and Hermione was sure she'd never hear words "Thank you" leave those lips, so she asked a different question, all the while looking into the pale-blue eyes.

"Did you like it?"

Her heart was once again running a marathon in a sixty degrees Celsius heat as Voldemort leaned even closer and touched the tip of her nose with his.

The sparks that she felt in her lower stomach almost made her wiggle in the chair.

"I did." The nose tip slowly moved left and then right.

"Why are you doing this?"

Hermione's dry throat managed to release the raspy question as she licked her again dry lips.

"And why do you think I am doing this?" Voldemort's voice was so tender and sensual that Hermione had to blink away the red fog of arousal.

"You are seducing me," Hermione whispered as those firm lips were almost touching her cheek now, the silky black hair caressing her skin.

"Mhmmm …"

The Dark Lord hummed as his lips tenderly touched her cheek, and Hermione almost exploded from the sensations.

"And how I am doing?" The gorgeous lips were now only a hair's breadth away from hers and Hermione swallowed hard.

"I think you know that even better than me."

The sensual lips stretched into a sincere smile, and Hermione's enlarged pupils noticed how tender and soft the lips looked from such a close distance.

"I do."

_Bastard. Would he kiss me …_

Dear Merlin! If she thought for a second just what she wanted to do and with whom …

_It was "the who" that was the biggest turn-on and the biggest problem at the same time,_ Hermione thought, looking at the beautiful lips.

And then the lips were gone as Lord Voldemort leaned back into his armchair, and Hermione really wanted to smack him in the face.

_To break his straight nose. To hurt him._

"Such fierceness, such violence is hidden under all those layers of affectation that I cannot wait to see it emerge."

Voldemort's eyes were now red, and Hermione had to take a deep breath before leaning back to the Dark Lord—_he didn't move_—and whispering into his smirking lips.

"You'll _feel_ it."

No one messed with Hermione Granger like that and got away with it.

Dark Lords included.

Hermione sat more comfortably in her armchair and told herself she wasn't smiling when she heard a quiet but honest laugh from her left.

"My fiery Gryffindor …"

_xxx_

The darkened cone with only the illuminated figures with all sorts of musical instruments on the bottom started to vibrate and pulsate with magic.

Suddenly, from the small opening in the bottom—_she could see everything from her place_—a fountain of brilliant colors erupted, and small creatures with big, transparent wings filled the dark cone.

Hermione felt the silk on her naked arm, and she knew Voldemort was leaning close to her again; his elegant cool scent clouded her mind.

He was affecting her mind, and if she didn't want to embarrass herself, she had to pay more attention to the creatures than to the person sitting so near again.

Hermione felt like she had needles pinned to all her nerve endings and senses. She couldn't concentrate at the moment on anything but him when he was so near.

"Elemental fairies." A whisper into her left ear, and a tongue suddenly licked the spot under her earlobe.

Hermione thought she had pissed herself for a second before mortifying realization hit her numb mind.

She was so aroused that the nipples stood out like mountains, their peaks touching the silky red bra, and her underwear …

She'd have to throw it away, alongside with the dress and the chair that were probably also wet.

"Enjoy the music."

_Fuck you._

A quiet laugh, and a second later, tender notes of piano filled the cave.

_xxx_

_Fuck you._

If he thought about it, only Potter had dared to tell him those two words once, and Potter had spent two relaxing minutes under the Cruciatus for those words. One for each.

No one dared to even think about saying something like that to him, and with a smirk, Voldemort realized he enjoyed it.

It was so refreshing, so …

He'd have to take a closer look at his Mudblood—_Hermione_—as today, she surprised him pleasantly.

If she really managed to get his interest, she'd be the first one.

He had women here and there, but no one could catch and hold his attention for a long time.

_Not even for an hour._

But this brave Gryffindor was slowly making herself more and more interesting, and only if she proved herself, he'd take her.

Fully and without return.

He wasn't a laundry.

Looking at the amazed and awed face of his Horcrux, Voldemort smiled.

He had two more surprises for her today, and he knew she'd hate one, but she'd love the other.

Too bad for her, the other would turn to be her downfall. Not the other way around, like she would think.

He had done everything to the perfection today—the location, the atmosphere, the attention …

He showed her he could be different.

He knew that Hermione had already given him a name—_luckily for her, she wasn't an idiot_—and he let her.

She needed to separate the Dark Lord, the Hood—_not very impressive, but he didn't mind_—and him—_Marvolo_.

Hermione was calling him by his middle name—_for the first name, she would have flown down the cone, no matter what he said_—and Voldemort didn't mind.

Let her have her fun while it lasted.

As soon as all three images merged into one, she'd be ready.

They had a long road ahead of them, and if she broke, he'd fix her.

_But only once._

People appreciated things not only when the things were taken away from them but also in comparison.

She'd ask him herself to start her downfall, and she wouldn't even realize it.

With a pleased hum, Voldemort closed his pale-blue eyes.

He loved this melody.

_xxx_

It was the eleventh, the last melody.

The piano tones filled the hole, and Hermione felt goosebumps on her naked arms. The violin in the background was so gentle and quiet, and the piano notes were light but soul-touching.

Hermione had always loved classical music, and what she was hearing was simply magical.

The elemental fairies were flowing slowly, their tiny bodies glowing in the dark with red, blue, green and white colors, and Hermione could swear she had never seen anything more perfect.

As the piano started to speed up and the horns with violin started to increase in power, Hermione felt a tremor in her knees. She had never heard a more powerful but tender melody in her life.

It told a story.

It felt like _her_ story.

The fairies started to fly with more speed, and when the music rose to its peak, Hermione tore her gaze from the magic in the cone and looked at the Dark Lord, meeting his satisfied and relaxed pale- blue eyes.

Hermione felt as if the tune was her own life—tender and gentle, but then, when it started to speed up, it was the time when _he_ crashed into her life, raising the volume and power until the tune changed from touching to overwhelming.

Hermione saw the smile on those cruel lips as the piano started to slow down again, and then she felt a cool hand move her hair to one side, and those lips touched her neck from behind.

"Do you enjoy it?"

The voice was smooth and a bit tender, and Hermione didn't know what he wanted to hear.

She was overwhelmed with the music and the lips, and there was nothing she could do when her body turned a bit in the armchair, her trembling hand gripping the blood-red vest as the cool lips touched hers.

Her loud moan was swallowed by the overwhelming violin, trumpets, and piano tones, as those sensual lips finally closed over her red mouth, touching slowly, but not fully kissing her.

Something inside her was burning now and she didn't care.

As her bottom lip was licked by a cool tongue and then those lips fully closed around hers, allowing to feel him, Hermione moaned into the sweet mouth as she started to come so hard that she couldn't even sit.

Strong arms lifted her from the chair, and the next second, her trembling-in-the-orgasm body was in Voldemort's—_Marvolo's_—lap, as he started to kiss her with more force, the music flowing around them, his one arm around her waist, and the other holding her hair in a fist.

Through the shocks in her body and clouded mind, Hermione opened her eyes for a second to look into the pale-blue eyes before closing them again, her one hand in the silky black hair and the other holding tightly to the blood-red silk vest.

She never wanted it to stop.

_xxx_

Hermione's bottom lip was released as the melody came to the end, and Hermione wanted the lips and the music back.

She was now looking into the pale eyes, her lips still trembling from the insane kiss, and she tasted the sweet wine on her tongue. She could feel her feminine parts convulse in pleasure, and it felt magical.

She wanted more.

"Later." A sweet whisper, one more slow touch to her lips, and then Voldemort was withdrawing.

The next second she was in her own chair with mad eyes and a galloping heart as Voldemort stood up and touched her cheek with his elegant hand.

"The evening isn't over yet, Hermione."

She had kissed Voldemort.

_Marvolo!_

And she wanted to do it again.

The clever pale eyes told her he knew it even without reading her thoughts.

Looking at the tall figure of Lord Voldemort—_Marvolo_—that was illuminated by the light from the magical fairies, Hermione accepted the fact that she could lie no longer.

She was in love.

_xxx_

Hermione shivered in her warm, velvety cloak, as she stood face to face with Lord Voldemort on Mount Everest, holding his silky vest in a fist that she wouldn't be able to open even if he threw her down into the abyss.

_She had already fallen._

"I have a gift for you."

An elegant hand removed her curly hair from her eyes as the winds blew, and Hermione almost leaned into the touch. She couldn't control her body; she wanted to touch him, to feel him again.

"What gift?"

Hermione whispered into the soft lips that were slowly touching hers but not quite kissing.

As Voldemort tilted his head back a bit, Hermione wanted to smack him.

He was such a tease!

"For Christmas, of course. You didn't think I'd forget about my fiery Gryffindor?"

The voice was low and a bit mocking, and Hermione almost gaped at him.

_But Christmas was already behind!_

"I find it is much more pleasurable when you have to wait for it."

_No shit._

"Hermione, Hermione. You are lucky there's still a half an hour until midnight."

Voldemort was smirking at her now, and Hermione realized that those were the last minutes she was with Marvolo before he would be replaced with Lord Voldemort and Crucios.

"Then give me my gift."

She had thirty minutes, and she'd talk to him like she wanted before again retreating back and waiting for another chance to say what she wished.

The lips that she had kissed with such passion were stretched in a smirk as Voldemort leaned closer to her ear, his cool and toxic scent overwhelming her sensitive body.

"Tell me what you want and you'll get it. Within reason, of course."

Hermione's aroused mind was now suddenly clear as millions of questions started to bombard it from all directions.

"Be careful what you wish for, Hermione."

Voldemort was giving her anything she wanted—within reason—and Hermione licked her lips when she understood what she needed.

She wouldn't be falling for Voldemort if she had Ron.

Had Ron been awake, she wouldn't be standing on the Mount Everest like a wanton whore clinging to Marvolo's vest.

She _couldn't_ be in love with Voldemort!

It was wrong on so many levels that she had to try to do something about it.

And he was actually giving her a chance.

Voldemort's weak point was that he did not fully understand the feelings of love, joy, or compassion, and therefore, he underestimated them.

She'd crawl her way up from this hole.

Her mind was made.

"Wake up Ronald Weasley."

A raised eyebrow and Voldemort closed his eyes.

And then Hermione saw a slow nod.

_Dear god, would he really …?_

Hermione actually leaned forward and pressed her madly smiling face into the black silky shirt, and as she closed her eyes, breathing in the cool scent, she missed the satisfied smile on the handsome face and the smart, red eyes that twinkled now.

_xxx_

"You will not hurt him, will you?" Hermione asked again as she was standing near the Burrow, looking at the black cloak of Lord Voldemort billow in the winds, the red silk inside shimmering like flames with the full moon in the sky.

"You will start studying the Mind Arts in just a few days, so I'll show you what a mind looks like, before doing anything to your _friend_. I will lower the barrier, and you'll be able to see everything I see and do. Consider this a lesson, if you wish. If you don't want me to, then I will not. I don't really care. It is your gift."

Voldemort—_Marvolo_—explained with a slight smile, as Hermione almost jumped from joy.

He did underestimate!

"And …"

Hermione was interrupted when Voldemort took a step towards the Burrow.

"Nor will I not touch anyone in the house, not today. I will wake your friend, and then we'll be going to Paris, where the midnight awaits for us. You have my word."

If Voldemort promised something, he always did it, so Hermione nodded her head in understanding.

She was going to enter the Burrow with Lord fucking Voldemort to wake up Ron Weasley.

She was either fully insane now or she was clinging to something real so not to fall into the abyss.

She'd have to deal with the Weasley—_and Harry_—tomorrow, but Ron would be awake and alive.

It was worth it.

_xxx_

Ginny was sitting in the kitchen, holding her mug with tea, when the entrance door opened and someone walked in.

The mug smashed onto the floor when Ginny's disbelieving eyes met pale-blue eyes on the handsome face of the man—_Voldemort_!—and then with almost a heart attack, Ginny saw Hermione step in behind him.

Quick brown eyes took in quickly the clothing of both figures in front of her when she heard the voice she knew so well from the Chamber of Secrets.

"Ginny Weasley … all grown up, I see."

The eyes were now red, and with horror so strong that she couldn't breathe, Ginny saw her mom appear in the kitchen.

Molly's mouth opened to ask what was going on when Ginny saw her mom look into the flaming red eyes.

Molly's mouth opened in a silent scream as she realized just _who_ came to visit when she was pushed with an invisible force onto the ceiling.

Ginny heard footsteps, and a second later, she saw all her brothers held onto the walls with invisible hands, not allowed to move or to talk.

"You'd said you wouldn't hurt them!"

Through her horror, Ginny heard Hermione's angry hiss and saw Hermione grab Voldemort's arm, not afraid of consequences.

Hermione knew Voldemort would come and she hadn't warned them? She was standing close to the Dark Lord and she still held his sleeve in her fist.

Was she insane?

"Is that what you call 'hurt', Hermione? I am keeping them immobile so that I wouldn't have to hurt them. Just like you asked."

He was calling Hermione by her name when Hermione herself had stated many times she was only "Miss Granger".

His voice sounded more tender and amused than she remembered from the Chamber, but it was still him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle— _just as handsome and cruel as then_— only a bit older.

This was a nightmare. What did Tom Riddle want here?

"You say that name again and I'll show you what I didn't back then, Ginevra."

Serious red eyes were now drilling holes in her, and Ginny felt her knees tremble.

Hermione winced a bit, and with a light nudge, she averted Voldemort's attention to herself.

"Could we please wake up Ron and leave?"

No, no, no!

Ginny wanted to scream that Hermione was insane if she thought Ginny would allow Voldemort to touch her brother's mind when those red eyes shone with promise of such pain that Ginny took a step back.

"Very well, lead the way," Voldemort said while gently touching Hermione's back with his hand, and the next second pale-blue eyes were trained on her.

"You're coming with us, Ginevra."

_xxx_

Hermione almost vomited from the tension and anticipation as the bone-white wand was now in Voldemort's right hand and the other was held palm up, inviting her to take it.

It was a quarter to eleven, which meant she had fifteen minutes until the French midnight. It was still Marvolo.

Slowly closing her fingers over the familiar hand, Hermione stepped closer to the Dark Lord as they stood near the comatose Ron with Ginny in the back corner, not able to move or talk but fully conscious; the terrified brown eyes watched every little detail.

"Now, I am going to lower the barrier, and you'll be able to see everything. It's a part of Legilimency that allows one to enter the minds of two people without interfering with one another."

Hermione nodded her numb head at understanding.

She had read about it before.

"Like described in the 'Mind Arts' by Maximilian Shell?" Hermione asked carefully—_Voldemort was near the comatose Ron and all the Weasleys in the Burrow_—and at the nod, she relaxed a bit.

Hermione almost fell onto the floor when the barrier disappeared, and her hand was now held in Voldemort's wand arm. _"Legilimens!"_

The power of the spell and Voldemort's incredible magic made Hermione press closer to the tall body.

The next second, she saw a landscape with thick, white fog, and Hermione understood that she was in Ron's mind.

As the barrier was down, she could feel everything Voldemort felt, and Hermione winced at the emotions and thoughts she could clearly read now.

The Dark Lord was disgusted at the mind he saw, and all the adjectives he had for Ron …

"What a pathetic, dumb pig."

_Shut up, _Hermione thought with pursed lips.

Ron wasn't a dumb, pathetic pig.

_xxx_

_Shut up._

First it was "fuck you" and now "shut up".

Hermione was really in her element when he allowed her the freedom of speech and thought.

She was brave, very brave, and she wasn't a sheep.

_Unlike the pig._

What an imbecile the boy was—it was incredible!

Not only was he stupid, but he was such a filthy pig with no manners and had such a low self-esteem that Voldemort thought for a second he entered a wrong mind.

Was this even human?

Such a pathetic mind, so weak, so simple …

And the redhead had such a lazy and disorganized mind, that Voldemort had to blink once to clear his own thoughts. It was one thing to see it through Hermione's —_or Potter's_—eyes but it was completely different when he saw it all himself.

He hated red hair—_ Dumbledore's beard hadn't always been grey, and Lily Potter was still fresh in his mind_—and for a moment, he wondered if he should simply kill everyone with bright red hair when he felt a hesitant touch.

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts—_there was nothing to look at in this imbecilic mind_—that he didn't notice the Mudblood's presence until she nudged him lightly.

The nerve!

But, she still had ten minutes—_he counted_—and he let her. They still had a fun midnight ahead of them.

He saw the vague silhouette behind the fog— _if that was a mental barrier then he was Dumbledore!_— as Prince Charming arrived.

Well …

Talking about pigs …

At least they tasted good when cooked perfectly—_if overcooked, it became tough like a piece of wood_—but what did this creature do?

Voldemort couldn't find a quality that he liked even if he looked around with a torch.

A raging inferno would not be enough …

If he even stole the sun and pushed it here—_into this trashbin called "a mind"_— he wouldn't get enough light.

"Would you stop making fun of Ronald?"

She still had five minutes.

He kept his word, so with a mental sigh, Lord Voldemort lifted the fog—_there was actually nothing to lift, the hog wasn't behind any serious barrier_— and saw the pig in all its beauty.

The boar had torn trousers and a torn shirt on; the bright orange hair was dirty, just like the rest of him; and he looked so pathetic that Voldemort's wand vibrated for a second, itching to cast a Crucio.

How utterly disgusting …

"Ron!"

He heard the Mudblood's voice—_two minutes_—and he saw the schmuck look at them with wide, confused blue eyes from his awkwardly standing position—_as if he was begging for some coins somewhere in a dirty alley instead of being in his own mind._

"Time to wake up, Prince Charming." The Dark Lord actually sneered at the stupid face.

The pig gaped at him and Voldemort closed the mindscape, finally leaving the pathetic mind behind.

_He needed a shower after all the dirt he saw._

One minute and he'd refresh his ears with some exciting screams of the sixty Mudbloods who awaited their verdict tonight.

_Now that would be interesting._

Looking at the happy Hermione who was now hugging the sitting pig, Voldemort smiled a bit.

Let her.

_xxx_

It was hard to concentrate on anything, as today she had had so many surprises, and as Hermione hugged Ron, she heard a clock from downstairs.

It was eleven o'clock here, and that meant it was already midnight in Paris.

Hermione released the crying Ron, promising him that she'd be back soon, looked at the shocked Ginny, and took a step towards Lord Voldemort, taking his outstretched hand.

He kept his word.

"Come, Hermione."

Last seconds of Marvolo, Hermione understood and looked into the pale-blue eyes before taking his outstretched un-gloved hand.

The next second, the flowing sensation took over her as Voldemort Apparated them away.

As Hermione opened her eyes and turned to Voldemort to say "thank you", things became like in a slow-motion movie to her. She saw the countless posts with hanging people on them; about twenty werewolves were showing their teeth from the ground, just below the hanging bodies; and the crowd was so big that Hermione had to swallow her panic.

There were at least a hundred Death Eaters here—_if not more, she could only see the sea of bodies_—and as Hermione's eyes saw Rabastan Lestrange bark something at the werewolf who was standing behind a thin magical barrier, she understood what Voldemort meant with a snack.

And she, like the idiot she was, had thought it would be only the two of them.

Hermione looked up to see the shining red irises and thought just how much she hated him now. He had it all planned and she hadn't even thought about it. What kind of monster was he?

"Careful, Miss Granger. It is after midnight. We don't want to ruin your pretty dress before the time, do we?"

It was after midnight and her Cinderella dream was over.

Marvolo was gone, and Lord Voldemort stood tall before a huge crowd, his black and red cloak billowing in the wind behind him, and he looked like the devil himself.

Hermione tried not to think about what would be happening to all the people who were hanging by their hands; whatever it would be, it would be horrible.

Just like Voldemort was.

Horrible.

_xxx_

_a/n I haven't written the part about Voldemort visiting Burrow in details, as I think it will be better from several POVs than from the Dark Lord's…and the part about Voldemort remembering Ginny...If you didn't realize why he could remember something like this, you will soon._

_Would you look at that…the Sleeping Beauty woke up! Time to get up and help me, Ronald! Ahaha…I have so much in store for you…._

_Thanks for reading! Waves!_


	17. New Year's celebrations

_a/n _

_Hi!_

_Two days...not bad, is it? :)_

_The story will be long and it will be hard, but I hope to continue portraying both characters- Voldemort is the easiest to write, so it says a lot about me-in characters. I don't like OOC and try to avoid it. But sometimes, it cannot be helped._

_Please pay attention: _

_**WARNING: The story is dark and is rated M for a reason. **_

_**Non-con, violence, gore and adult themes ahead.**_

_If you're easily disturbed, the story is not for you. _

_Now, again, I'll repeat myself, but I think it's necessary._

_As my wonderful beta — Serpent In Red— said, there is no Lamb!Tom hopping around— I just love the wording—and I'm shamelessly using it for this story :) Serp, you're the best! _

_Thank you so much for the magnificent reviews! I am so sorry I haven't replied, but I had no time and I decided you'd want to read the chapter more than hear me thank you :) _

_Many of you guessed correctly, as to what awaits Hermione._

_Lord Voldemort has blue eyes because Ronald Weasley has blue eyes. Wonder why I would need it? ;)_

_And in this chapter, you'll find out what happened to Voldemort's Horcruxes and why he knows everything that happened to each Horcrux._

_I got shit load (not very polite, but fits) inspiration from your thoughts and ideas. I understood what you liked and what not._

_ If you could continue letting me know, I'd be the happiest writer!_

_So, thank you!_

_This is the last chapter for the 31__st__ December._

_I tried a new POV, and I hope you'll like it. _

_Beta: Serpent in Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Seventeen

The Mudbloods were hanging on those high, wooden posts, and the werewolves were below, circling around with crazy—_but controlled_—hunger in their yellow eyes.

Wolfsbane Potion was mandatory when werewolves were around the other Death Eaters, so there was nothing to be afraid of, but he was really thankful for the barrier between the werewolves and him.

Looking at the faces of the men and women hanging by their hands on the posts, he felt weird.

He wanted to close his eyes and just pretend he wasn't here—_in the crowd with some truly crazy people around_—waiting for Lord Voldemort to arrive and begin the prosecution.

He didn't want to see the prosecutions; he wasn't as bloodthirsty as he—_or his father_—would like to imagine he was.

_Because he didn't want to see it._

He was supposed to enjoy it—_like his father did_—but he didn't. He _couldn't_ enjoy it.

But he was the only one.

He had such a bright future ahead of him—_his father was the Minister for Magic of Great Britain_—he could become whatever he wanted—_he really liked Transfiguration_—and marry whomever he wanted—_the most eligible bachelor of magical Britain_—and his life was so perfect that it was hard to imagine a better one.

Or would have been, had it not been for the other side of the shiny coin.

The other was so full of darkness, of true evil and ultimate servitude to Lord Voldemort, that he wanted to shudder just from thinking about it.

He wasn't a sadist, and while he was a bad boy, he wasn't _that_ bad.

_Yet_.

Because his father would make sure he performed spectacularly—_like a Malfoy_—and all Malfoys had been known for their streak of violence throughout the generations.

_All, except for him._

And it really pissed his father off.

Draco Malfoy straightened his shoulders as his father's piercing gaze landed on him, silently telling him that if he even moved wrongly, he would be severely punished. His father loved him more than his own life, but he did not hesitate to use nasty spells from time to time to remind Draco what was expected from him without any questions asked.

"_As long as the damage wasn't irreversible …"_ were his father's direct words.

And his father knew a lot.

The Dark Lord knew even more, and he wouldn't restrain himself to use curses that _were_ reversible.

That was what his father had said, and his mother had to silently agree.

His mother tried to interfere a few times, but Lucius Malfoy—_despite loving his family more than anything_—did not hesitate to just throw Narcissa out of the room.

While Draco knew that they would all die if any of them made even one mistake—_now it looked a bit better_—he didn't enjoy tortures, murders, and the fear of the victims.

His father had never raised his wand at him before the Dark Lord returned, and Draco knew why his father had to sometimes take more drastic measures now. He remembered their time in the Manor with Lord Voldemort as a _guest_ well.

After the Dark Lord became a human, a handsome—_beauty was beauty_—man, his father changed.

Something shifted in Lucius Malfoy, and Draco did not like it.

His mother said Lucius was like this before his birth, and after all those years, he was reverting back to his old self.

He didn't want his father to end up like Aunt Bella—_all insane and fanatic_—but there was nothing he could do but hope that a Malfoy would be more stable than a Black.

_I am supposed to watch the prosecution and enjoy it, and I don't want to, _Draco thought, looking at the eager faces of his aunt and uncle. _But I am the only one._

Draco heard a hush and the mad crowd quieted as their Dark Marks burned directly at midnight, and then he saw Lord Voldemort and the Mudblood—_Granger!_—appear out of thin air.

Judging by their outfits—_Granger's especially_—he would say they had been "out", and as Granger's happy, smile-illuminated face turned to Lord Voldemort, Draco saw the moment she understood where she was.

_Surprise!_

Granger looked good for a Mudblood—_really good_—and he had to admit it could have been interesting to have such a witch as a girlfriend—_beauty was beauty_—or maybe something more—_had she not been a Mudblood_—but Draco wasn't stupid.

Granger belonged to the Dark Lord.

Pansy said she was his whore, and now Draco wouldn't be so quick to deny that.

And from the looks of it, Granger didn't even mind.

Well, well, well …

_He wasn't mimicking his father!_

It looked like the evening was going to be a bit better.

He wasn't the only one now.

_xxx_

The Mudbloods were hanging by their hands on the illuminated area around the French Ministry, and he had to admit he liked what he saw.

Rabastan and Lucius were really good when they wanted to be.

_His little attention paid itself off._

Lucius was now back to his normal self—_the mask of seventeen years ripped away_—and Voldemort couldn't be more pleased.

He really liked Lucius when he wasn't an idiot. Lucius and Severus.

His two most favorite Death Eaters—_Bella was like a dog_—and only one got a second chance—_and used it_ _brilliantly._

Severus …

It was a huge disappointment. Not only in Severus—_he so wanted to kill him that it hurt_—but in himself the most. Voldemort had to admit he had lost his grasp on reality and ruled on fear only. It didn't work all the time, and those times it didn't work, it hurt the most.

All his Horcruxes had been destroyed—_except for Nagini_—before he even noticed it.

Only when all the Horcruxes had been returned—_those shining red balls had really hurt_—he understood just what kind of mistake he had almost made.

He couldn't forget that he had to be not only brilliant but charming—_as only he could be_—as well, while dealing with other people. Not often though.

He would have killed the elder Malfoy as well, but he needed Lucius for the takeover. And then Lucius's inner darkness finally returned to the surface, and the Dark Lord liked what he saw.

Greyback was circling with his brood around the posts, and Voldemort smiled a bit.

He might smile in Hermione's presence, but his Death Eaters weren't very used to it.

Talking about Hermione and smiling …

He had never smiled more than today, and while some smiles weren't very nice and genuine, he had to admit he had had a good time with his fiery Horcrux.

She was amusing and she could get his attention.

Too bad for her, he was the Dark Lord, and elemental music wasn't the only music he enjoyed.

He took a step forward and all the Death Eaters—_werewolves included_—bowed.

It was good to be Him.

_xxx_

Hermione saw Voldemort take a step forward, his velvety cloak framing his relaxed but straight shoulders, and she had to remind herself just why she was kissing him like a maniac a few hours ago.

Standing before the bowing sea of people was Lord Voldemort, but he was also the Hood and he was Marvolo. The Dark Lord was all those three people in one, and while Hermione tried to separate them, she knew it was in her mind only. She didn't know what would happen if he became one person.

He was her guardian—Voldemort.

He was her mentor—the Hood.

He was her possible lover—Marvolo.

He was the Dark Lord.

She fell for him hard, without even first noticing it, and she still couldn't understand why he was affecting her like this.

Hermione did not agree—_and never would_—with his morals (or lack thereof), his views, and his politics.

But he didn't demand it from her—_he hadn't demand anything; it was her who had been obsessing over him_—and she had been able to live in an artificial bubble for some time.

And now Voldemort was tearing the bubble apart, and Hermione couldn't understand why.

She couldn't understand his logic and it bothered her.

What game was he playing at and what place did he have reserved for her?

As soon as she thought she'd figured him out at least a bit, he would turn and twist everything around.

He was unpredictable.

Looking at the poor people on the posts, Hermione could only close her eyes.

There was nothing she could do but wait.

_xxx_

"Tonight, we have many reasons to celebrate. Wizarding Britain and France have fully accepted our power, our views and our politics. Nothing and no one stands in our way any longer!"

Bella wanted to scream in pleasure and euphoria, looking at her Master from the crowd.

He'd led them to victory, he gave them the world, and Bellatrix had never worshipped him more than she did now.

"Those who refused my generous offer are now hanging here on these wooden posts."

The Dark Lord slowly walked over to the first hanging Mudblood, and all werewolves were now sitting on the ground, not making any harsh or fast movements when the Dark Lord was so near.

Even Bellatrix didn't want to imagine what the Dark Lord would do to everyone, if one of the dogs tried to bite him.

He'd kill them all—not even one werewolf would remain alive, and they all knew it.

"What should I do with you?"

The Dark Lord was now standing near the first post with a struggling Mudblood on it, and as Bellatrix saw the familiar icy glint in his gorgeous eyes, she couldn't stop the giggle that left her mouth.

Those red eyes were now trained on her, and Bella wanted to beg for forgiveness when she saw her Master stretch out a hand, inviting her to join him.

She almost ran to him, and when she felt his fingers close around her own hand, Bellatrix couldn't stop a maniacal smile from stretching her lips.

_How she worshipped him …_

"Are we going to simply kill them?"

Bellatrix looked at the sea of her comrades as her Lord asked the question.

She was standing so near him—_only her_—because she was his most favorite.

The Death Eaters understood that they were allowed to participate now, and Bella saw many shake their heads with sadistic smiles on their faces.

"Are we going to feed them to our friends?"

The werewolves—_Fenrir_—eagerly howled, and Bella wanted to giggle again when she looked at the Mudblood—_Granger_—who was standing behind Lord Voldemort in her pretty red dress and black cloak.

_Where have they been? What were they doing? Why was the Mudblood so dressed up? What …_

"Bella, concentrate." A whisper into her ear and Bellatrix almost moaned before quickly apologizing.

The Mudblood was looking at her with hatred and disgust, and Bellatrix wanted to rip her pretty dress to shreds before killing her slowly. But she couldn't.

"Are we going to let them go?"

A sea of "No" filled her ears, and Bellatrix laughed as her Lord smiled.

"Are we going to be merciful and allow them one more chance?"

Bella understood it wasn't a question anymore, but one werewolf didn't, and as she saw the dog get up, a green light left Lord Voldemort's wand.

"I said 'sit'."

Bella looked at the Mudblood who held a hand over her mouth, and she wanted to laugh at her expression.

"Are we going to give them one more chance, Bella?"

Now, this was a question—_one didn't stay that long in Lord Voldemort's favor when one couldn't decipher the difference between a question and a statement_—and she looked at her Master's bright eyes as she nodded her head.

"Yes, my Lord."

"We are very merciful, Mudbloods. And I promise you, you will understand just how merciful the Dark Lord is before the night is over."

A barrier appeared before them, allowing the werewolves to approach the posts again, and as Lord Voldemort snapped his fingers, one hanging Mudblood started to burn, the fire licking the legs, the torso, and the face.

"There is always a choice."

Her Lord let go of her hand, and Bella wanted the hand back, but she knew her place.

"You either burn like your ancestors burned us, wizards, or you jump down. You may choose now, Mudblood."

The hanging Mudblood—_a man around forty_—screamed so loud that Bella was sure his vocal cords would break, and in the next second, his scream was joined by a hiss.

Granger was now hissing something at the Dark Lord, and from the icy glint in his red eyes, Bella understood that whatever it was, her Master wasn't pleased.

_At all._

She saw the burning body fall from the post and the werewolves darted off. A hiss from Granger again and Bellatrix smiled.

What an idiot Mudblood.

xxx

Hermione could not watch it; she couldn't silently watch a human burn before her own eyes.

If Voldemort wanted to punish her, he better used Crucio, so she could also scream.

At least then she wouldn't feel everything Voldemort was feeling.

The barrier in her mind wasn't raised, and she felt the sick pleasure radiating from the Dark Lord.

"_**Stop! Please stop it!"**_

How she could have felt anything for this monster, she had no idea. But he wasn't Marvolo now, and that was the only thing that saved her already trembling mind.

She saw the Dark Lord turn a bit, his red eyes shining with promise of such pain that Hermione almost took a step back.

She needed to feel the pain because otherwise she would go crazy. She needed to return back to the reality where Voldemort was a monster and Marvolo didn't exist.

The body fell, and Hermione started to cry as the hungry werewolves darted over to tear the flesh apart.

"_**Please!"**_

She knew it was pointless to beg, but at least she had his attention now, and soon she'd be on the floor, thrashing under his Cruciatus.

She couldn't wait.

_xxx_

He heard the hiss, and for a second, his wand twitched, the tip already burning red—_Crucio_—but then he realized it would be useless.

His Mudblood was stronger mentally than he had anticipated, and she would welcome the pain so that she didn't have to watch.

_Not the burning body, but him_.

Her little system of separating his personalities was doing wonders to her brilliant mind, and he couldn't allow it any longer.

His Mudblood was balancing on the ladder she had created for herself, and it looked like he needed to shake the ladder a bit.

She needed to lose her balance before he allowed her to return to the Weasleys or even leave his presence.

It was time for her final lesson for today.

"_**Come here."**_

_xxx_

Draco wanted to turn away and not watch the horrible scene before him, when he heard a hiss from Granger.

She was a Parselmouth now …

It was one thing when his father told him about the Horcrux in the Mudblood—_so he wouldn't open his big mouth and say something wrong to the person who had a part of Lord Voldemort's soul inside of her_—but it was completely different between hearing about it and seeing it.

Draco watched with held breath as Granger slowly walked over to the Dark Lord, her red dress bright in the night, her heels clicking on the ground, and as she stopped before the tall figure of his Lord, Draco admitted he wouldn't be standing with his head raised if he had been her.

Draco was afraid even from where he was standing, but Granger wasn't.

Gryffindor.

_Brave and insane._

_xxx_

Hermione heard the order—_it definitely wasn't a request_—and she told herself not to be afraid as her heels clicked on the stone in the otherwise complete silence.

_Let Voldemort punish her._

As she stopped before his tall figure, she cast a quick glance at Bellatrix—_sick bitch_—before looking at the handsome face she had kissed with abandon just an hour ago.

It wasn't Marvolo; it was Voldemort now.

And she hated Lord Voldemort.

Suddenly, she felt his hand around her waist, holding her close in a painful grip.

_What?_

Where was the Crucio?

"_**I think we need to clear up a few things before we continue."**_

Hermione shivered at the hissing voice as she looked into the now pale-blue eyes.

"Lucius, Bella, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Fenrir—" Voldemort addressed his best Death Eaters as all five bowed.

"—the first five Mudbloods are yours. Play nicely."

A sadistic smirk on the refined face was reflected now on all five faces of the smiling Death Eaters—_she didn't know werewolves could smile_—and as Hermione was about to open her mouth, she saw a black mist appear around Lord Voldemort and her, clouding them from everyone's gazes, but allowing her to see everything. She was standing in a distance, but not too far away from the crowd.

Her heart was beating so fast and she was close to panicking when Voldemort turned her around in his grip so that she was facing him.

"Hermione, Hermione … what am I going to do with you?"

_Marvolo_.

"Let them go. Please."

Hermione's whisper was so quiet, but he heard her nevertheless as those sensual lips stretched into a smile that was so tender that Hermione's stomach dropped.

"But, Hermione … you have already gotten your wish, haven't you?"

What? Was he serious?

"You will find that I'm always serious, my brave Gryffindor."

His one hand was still holding her tight, and she wanted to struggle, but it would be pointless.

He was much stronger not only magically but physically as well, and they both knew it.

"I told you to choose carefully, didn't I?" Those lips were almost touching hers now and Hermione wanted to lean away, to not feel him so close.

It was a mix of Marvolo and Voldemort now, and Hermione didn't want to kiss this combination.

She was thankful for the fog as she didn't want anyone to witness whatever the Dark Lord had planned for her now.

He wasn't actually saying that had she chosen not to wake up Ronald, she could have been able to save all those people on the posts.

She saw Bellatrix cast a curse on a teenager boy; she saw Greyback run around the posts with an arm hanging from his slobbery jaw; she saw Lucius Malfoy take out a silver knife and plunge it into the spot just under a shoulder blade of a man; she saw Rabastan and Rodolphus torture two young women—_not older than her_—and she saw the crowd whistle and cheer.

They all were sadists.

Maniacs.

But the biggest maniac of them all was holding her tight, looking at her with a tender smile.

She wanted to hurt him so much that her hand rose without her understanding it, and she would have broken his straight nose, had his second hand not grabbed her raised arm.

She slammed her head to his, hoping for the nose.

She hit him _somewhere_ as the grip became so painful that Hermione cried out.

"If only you knew just how much I want to kill you right now, Hermione."

She knew; she could feel it in her mind, where the barrier was missing. Voldemort was barely controlling himself, and Hermione wished for a second his control would snap.

She was obsessed with Marvolo; she respected and looked up to the Hood; she disagreed with Voldemort; and she absolutely loathed the Dark Lord.

Her mind couldn't control her own thoughts; she was going crazy trying to separate all those imaginative figures, and she was balancing on a thin cord that connected the mountains. It would snap soon.

Better if he just killed her.

_Tom Riddle, _Hermione thought in desperation, knowing just what he hated the most, hoping it would be enough to push Voldemort—_Tom Riddle_—over the edge and do it.

Hermione screamed as a hand brutally twisted her hair before yanking it so hard that Hermione thought her hair would stay in the fist.

"Tsk, tsk, Hermione."

Voldemort's eyes were red and Hermione shivered.

"I have a better idea."

Suddenly, she was turned around, and the Dark Lord was holding her from behind now as she watched the Death Eaters torture their victims.

She felt cool fingers on her thigh and she almost screamed from horror when the elegant hand tore the lower part of the dress away. Her cloak was already gone.

Soft but merciless fingers were now slowly drawing circles on her naked thigh, and Hermione was afraid to even think.

He wouldn't rape her, would he?

"You will enjoy it, my sweet, trust me."

"Please, no!" Hermione started to sob as she felt the fingers move slowly towards her feminine parts, the other hand holding her in a death grip around her middle.

"You wanted it so badly just an hour ago, and being the merciful Lord that I am, I have decided to grant you this wish. Aren't you happy, Hermione?"

Hermione's heart stopped when she felt fingers slowly move her red silk underwear to the side but not ripping it away.

She wanted Marvolo, but she didn't want Voldemort.

"And here comes the interesting part, Hermione. There is no Marvolo, there is no Hood, and there is no Voldemort. There is just me, and I am all those people."

Hermione's tears were cascading down her cheeks as she listened to the calm voice in her ear.

He was right, but she couldn't accept it yet.

"There is no Marvolo without the Hood and Lord Voldemort. There is no Hood without Marvolo and Lord Voldemort. And there is no Lord Voldemort without Marvolo and the Hood. Do you hear me?"

Hermione shook her head in denial, closing her teary eyes.

_Kill me_, she thought in desperation.

"You came today from _my_ kiss, Hermione. _My kiss_. And you will come again."

Hermione screamed when she felt the elegant fingers open her tender folds.

"There is no good or evil, my sweet. There is only power."

She struggled in the tight hold, but it was useless.

"And I have absolute power. I am the power, Hermione."

She felt familiar lips suck her earlobe, and she started to cry out loud as something inside her stomach started to burn again. His scent was everywhere, his lips were on her neck now—_licking and sucking_—and his fingers slowly played with her now hard clit.

She couldn't control her body, and she wanted to vomit when she realized she was aroused. She hated him; she could not want him!

No, no, no … rape was better!

"I don't do rape, Hermione. Why would I rape you if you are already so wet?"

A loud moan found its way out of her mouth as her clit was pinched hard, and she felt the arousal intensify.

The mental barrier wasn't there, and she could feel pleasure cloud her mind.

She would do anything he wanted if he only stopped.

"Beg for it."

Hermione opened her mouth to beg him to stop, when he entered two fingers into her tight channel, and instead she moaned in pleasure and pain. He wasn't breaking her virginity barrier, but he was very close to it.

"I am controlling all your emotions now, there is nothing to do but come. Come for me, and I'll stop."

Hermione thought she saw a barrier inside her mind appear again, but before she had a chance to find out, the fingers started to move.

His body was so close and the pleasure was so strong that there was nothing she could do when her own body started to move with the fingers, skewering herself on the moving digits.

Her loud moans were now uncontrollable, and she tried to move away, only to find the fingers even deeper and the thumb pressed harder on her clit.

"Stop!"

A scream was torn from her mouth as she felt an orgasm approach.

"_**Come for me."**_

Voldemort was controlling all her emotions, and Hermione felt pleasure so great that as she came, she thrashed so hard that the hand around her waist had to tighten its hold.

She couldn't breathe.

Her body was shaking in the aftershocks, and Hermione wanted to scream in horror.

She was suddenly released, and Hermione fell to the ground, near the torn piece of red fabric. Polished black shoes were now in her view as Voldemort squatted near her head.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Hermione lifted her crazy gaze to look into pale blue eyes, and with a twist to her lower stomach, she saw Voldemort slowly lick his fingers with a lazy swipe of his tongue.

He was sick.

"And you are not?"

Hermione would have locked herself in St. Mungo's already, but she didn't come on her own.

He made her. Those weren't her feelings and emotions. _She_ didn't orgasm around Voldemort's—_Marvolo's_—fingers on her own while standing near a crowd of Death Eaters—_no matter if they were invisible; it was the voyeurism that counted_—and she had no reason to be so turned on especially when she was witnessing such horrendous scenes in front of her. She wasn't a sadist; how could she possibly feel so aroused while witnessing the sufferings of others?

A sadistic smile appeared on the handsome face, and Hermione's world stopped.

The barrier _was_ back, and in her last attempt to save her sanity, Hermione whispered, "But you said you controlled me."

She was looking into pale-blue eyes, and she wanted to vomit with sick realization.

"I lied."

As she heard his laugh, Hermione finally vomited the tender chicken she had eaten and the sweet wine she had drunk onto the cold ground.

"Don't forget to prepare for your classes and don't be lazy."

Voldemort was now talking in a calm, serious voice, and Hermione could only cry.

He was a psychopath.

"I have always been, but it didn't stop you before, did it? In three days, I am expecting you at Slytherin Manor, understood?"

The red torn material was now in his hands as he wiped his fingers on it before getting up and throwing the material at her laying figure.

Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to get up.

"Look at me."

She couldn't see him.

"Fuck you," she spat to the ground.

"I will fuck _you_ raw before giving you to Lucius and Rabastan if you don't lift your pretty eyes. _Now_."

She had never heard him curse before.

Hermione was shivering so hard that she couldn't even get on all fours. Fuck him and his dogs.

Nothing could be worse.

A hand yanked her hair again, and she was looking into pale-blue eyes from her new position on the knees.

"If she tries to do anything stupid, you have my permission to kill Ginny Weasley first."

Who was he talking to?

Hermione's mind shut down when she heard a hiss escape her own lips.

**"**_**With pleasure." **_

It was the Horcrux.

Voldemort was talking to the Horcrux.

"_**Take her to the Weasleys."**_

Before she was Apparated away, Hermione saw the pale-blue eyes shine wickedly and saw fire appear around those elegant fingers; the black mist disappeared and all the bodies on the posts caught fire.

The next second, she was sitting on the floor in the Burrow. Confused and worried blue eyes were trying to get her attention, but all she could see were the other blue eyes—_pale and cruel_—and she screamed.

She hated blue now.

_xxx_

He had sent away his Mudblood because he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself.

He was so aroused now that he had to cast a Crucio on some unknown figure before he could even think straight.

This was the first time in his life when he wanted to just take a woman, fully and completely, to show her everything he had in mind, to possess her, to own her body, and it was a Mudblood.

He would have called himself a hypocrite, but the Mudblood had a part of his soul in her nicely-shaped body, and therefore, she wasn't a Mudblood.

She was part Slytherin, just like he was.

And she hit him.

She was so in tune with him that it was hard to believe they weren't related.

Hermione hated his dark side, but she was doomed as she couldn't escape the temptation of his other sides—_he wouldn't allow it_—and she would soon have no one but him.

He had interfered with the situation, even though he had promised himself to just watch, but the temptation had been too big to resist. And he was never good with resisting temptations.

Taking out a silver knife, Lord Voldemort threw it at one of the Mudbloods before casting a Crucio at the other.

He wanted Hermione now, but he had to wait if he wanted to enjoy it to the maximum.

He had smashed her mental stability to pieces today, and she needed a few days to collect herself.

He hadn't broken her—_he would know_—as he had stopped before she reached the point of no return. It was too early for her, and that was why he had to wait. That was why he let her go now.

She would come to him herself, begging for him to take her, and only then would he give in to the temptation fully.

He would show her later that it was possible to enjoy the darkness as well, and she would love it.

He wasn't Marvolo, he wasn't the Hood, and he wasn't the Dark Lord.

He was Lord Voldemort and he was all three.

And he was brilliant.

_xxxx_

_a/n Well, so the date is over...smiles :)  
><em>

_I rather like Lucius, so I decided to make him darker- we don't know a lot about him from the books- and he's so not Draco Senior (sticks out the tongue at Serp)! _

_Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. I am open to reasonable critique and questions, so just review and let me know! Waves!_


	18. Marvolo

_Hi!_

_Right. So my 3 year old son spilled water all over my laptop and the keyboard doesn't work anymore. This chapter was finished and shared before the valentine's day's surprise, so you can read it._

_I have no idea when i'll be able to update, so it sucks, as i have a lot of inspiration._

_Thank you for your wonderful reviews. You're all awesome. I replied to your questions from my phone, but I cannot write a whole chapter with my mobile. _

_I'll keep my fingers crossed, but it doesn't look good at the moment. _

_I hope I was able to surprise you with the turn i'm taking._

_P.S I really like Hermione ;)_

Beta: Serpent in Red

**Chapter Eighteen**

**1****st**** January**

Hermione was holding Ron tight, sniffing into his neck, and she felt like she had a chance now. She could escape Voldemort's magnetism now when she had her Ron back.

Hermione tried not to feel the guilt for choosing Ron over all those people as she didn't know Voldemort would do something like that.

She should have though.

She and Ron have talked for hours, and while still weak, he was back to his usual self. She loved him so much.

_Everything will be alright now._

Xxx

**End of January**

"Can't you wear something less … flashy?"

Hermione slammed the wardrobe door so hard that the mirror on its surface almost broke.

Her original clothing was in the corner—_the white dress was said to be too short, and the silver one was too opened on the front_—and she was trying not to open her mouth and just bark in anger.

"Why can't you wear something normal?"

"I _am_ wearing something normal, Ronald. I have to dress appropriately. You haven't forgotten who I am going to meet, have you?"

Hermione tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone, as she didn't want to sound like a bitch, but sometimes she wished that Ron would just keep his thoughts to himself.

"And the shoes? Can't you wear the flat ones?"

Hermione saw the red fog of annoyance cloud her mind, and she knew she had to hurry up before she said something she'd regret.

"How long will you be with the snake-face?"

She wanted to say he wasn't a snake-face anymore, but it was better not to remind Ron about Voldemort's new looks. To say Ron hated Voldemort was an understatement.

"I told you already that I do not know, didn't I?"

Ron was sitting in one of the chairs, his feet on the glass table—_darning socks were dirty again_—and he was eating while judging her outfits. The crumbs from the snacks were all over his bright orange t-shirt with the words "Chudley Cannons" in the front and the back.

After the whole nightmarish New Year, Ron was her only constant company—_she didn't count Voldemort as he was always there_—ashe refused to listen to his mother and stayed here often—_but never for the night_—in her Venice apartment.

Hermione had honestly told them everything—_minus the part of why her dress was torn and what she had been doing all evening and with whom_—and while she didn't regret it, she missed the Weasleys.

She had said that waking up Ron had been an award for getting three Outstandings.

When Molly took her to the kitchen in the evening and with tears in her honest eyes asked Hermione not to come to the Burrow often, Hermione told herself she wasn't disappointed.

She understood Molly perfectly, but it still hurt.

The Weasleys—_Ginny especially_—weren't in immediate danger when she wasn't around, and with Ron awake, she had no reason to come to the Burrow so often when she wasn't that welcomed anymore.

There was no Order anymore and Harry was always away.

Molly had cried when she had explained that she had lost one child already and she wouldn't be able to live if something happened to her other children, and while she loved Hermione like her own daughter—_or so she said_—she wasn't ready to endanger the lives of everyone in the family.

Hermione had told Ginny to keep her distance, since for some reason, Voldemort had chosen the redhead as the first target, and Hermione didn't know what counted as "stupid" in the Dark Lord's view.

Better safe than sorry.

She still had contact with her friend, but not that often and not that close.

Harry …

Harry was there when she had arrived from the "party", and while he was the Harry she knew, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that something was very off with her green-eyed friend. Harry told everyone he was alright and refused to answer any questions as to where he was spending all his time.

Hermione promised herself that as soon as she had free time, she'd find out what he had been up to.

She knew that even Ron couldn't get through to their friend, and it really bothered her.

Hermione was ready to storm Grimmauld Place and demand answers, but Harry was as stubborn as she was, and unless she learned Legilimency, she wouldn't get any answers from him if he was unwilling to share.

Hermione wished that Ron would try again, but apparently, he had more important things on his mind.

Like Voldemort, her outfits, and food.

Ron took the news about the events of months he was in coma not very well, but he had no choice.

He couldn't change anything.

She couldn't look like riffraff, and while she told herself she didn't pay extra attention to her wardrobe now, she knew she was lying.

She wanted to look good.

Hermione didn't know what awaited her when she went to meet the Dark Lord for the first time after _that_ and was again surprised when after just one hour in his presence, he lifted his restrictions on her thoughts and speech—_in private only_—and she found herself relaxing slowly.

He was again the knowledgeable Hood but with Marvolo's charms, and it was an irresistible combination.

When he wasn't burning people, he wasn't that bad.

_Well …_

Hermione had spent long hours in the bathroom, vomiting from the horror she had seen, but she hadn't scrubbed herself to remove his lingering touch.

There was no point in it.

She wasn't a hypocrite.

She hated him as much as she wanted him.

And she _really_ hated him.

Every time she looked at him, she remembered how it felt back then, and the tension between them was so thick that she could use a knife to cut through it.

Every time she went to see him, she didn't know what she had awaited—_it was a lie_—but every time she returned home with empty hands and disturbing thoughts.

He hadn't touched her even once.

Hermione decided she had a personality disorder with a lingering schizophrenia and some very weird kicks.

_She was insane._

"Hermione, are you—" A burp. "—listening at all?"

Ron asked while chewing the onion rings he had brought from the Burrow—_made with love and a lot of onion and garlic_—and Hermione didn't know how many times she had to tell him not to talk—_or burp!_—with a full mouth.

The smell of the fried onion rings was now even on the balcony, and Hermione had to cover her nose a few times when Ron wasn't watching. She needed to invent a spell that would clean the air without anyone noticing it.

"I am, Ronald, and I have to go. I don't know how long I'll be there, so don't wait, ok?"

_Please let me study in peace today._

"No problem, Hermione. I don't have anything to do anyway, so I'll wait for you," Ron said while wiping his oily fingers on the napkin, and Hermione had a flashback in which elegant hands were holding a piece of her red torn dress, and she kicked the corner of the wardrobe.

_Dammit, it hurts!_

While Hermione was trying to get rid of the flashback and the tingling in her lower stomach, Ron got up and now stood behind her.

Hermione saw their reflection in the mirror, and she was so grateful when Ron hugged her as she was able to close her eyes without Ron noticing it.

The picture was all wrong.

Hermione tried to tell herself that appearance did not matter—_it truly didn't_—but it wasn't the appearance only.

She loved his bright orange hair, but she didn't want to bury her fingers in it and feel its texture.

She loved his tender, boyish face, but didn't want to touch it with her fingertips.

She loved his carefree and honest attitude, but he wasn't elegant or brilliant.

She loved his blue eyes, but they weren't pale enough. Or smart enough. They weren't piercing her soul every time he looked at her. They paled in comparison.

She loved his pale lashes, but she found she preferred black.

She loved his spicy scent, but it wasn't cool or elegant, and the toxic note was missing.

She loved his outfits, but they weren't even close to the elegant style she truly liked.

She loved his wide eyebrows, but they weren't elegantly shaped, and they were orange instead of black.

She loved Ron, but she wanted another.

When Ron had kissed her tentatively on the lips, she didn't tremble from desire.

When Ron—_the man she thought she loved_—had kissed her—_once_—she had thought about the other lips—_sensual and demanding._

While Ron had been in a coma, Hermione was able to imagine that she'd respond to his touch like she did to Marvolo's—_and that she was just a horny bitch_—but now, when Ron was awake and well, there was no denying her desires any longer.

She _was_ a horny sick bitch, but she wanted one man only.

She did not want to be with Voldemort, but she wanted him physically.

Her mind and her body disagreed with one another and there was nothing she could do.

As Hermione saw Ron lean closer to her, she wanted to lean away as the smell from the onion rings was making her stomach tremble—_but not in anticipation, unfortunately_—and Hermione lied again.

She was lying all the time to everyone now and she didn't know when she became such a … Slytherin.

"He will Crucio me if I am late."

She still had at least twenty minutes and Voldemort didn't raise his wand at her at all, but Ron didn't need to know that.

It wasn't Ron's fault that she was a sick, twisted individual.

"I'll miss you, Hermione. I'll be right here when you return and I'll take care of you."

_Right. Thanks._

"I'll miss you, too, Ron. But I won't be long."

Had she been Pinocchio, her nose would have reached Britain all on its own.

Hermione hated herself, but she could not control her body.

With a guilty but gentle smile, Hermione twisted the ring—_Morsmordre_—and hoped Voldemort would accept her early visit.

Her smile grew when she felt the burning on the ring, and in the next second, she was Apparated away.

Xxx

Looking at his reflection, he winced.

The yellow vest—_while being silky and sitting perfectly on his lean form_—was just horrible and he resembled a chicken.

"_Crucio!"_

As the tailor was enjoying his feedback, Lord Voldemort took off the offending vest and threw it near the silent—_he had a lot on his mind and didn't need accompanying screams now_—thrashing form of the person who had thought yellow would look good on him.

Everything looked good on him, but it didn't mean he had to wear idiotic colors.

He had his standards.

Closing the silver buttons of a pale blue vest, Voldemort smiled.

Now that was to his taste.

Turning left and right, he had to admit pale blue was his color—_he was winter_—and it fitted well with his eyes.

Should he try maybe purple? It was a complicated color, and it was hard to pull it off, but if anyone could pull it off, it'd be him.

Even Lucius—_and he knew how much time Lucius spent obsessing about his looks_—wouldn't pull it off.

Blond hair and purple didn't look as good as black hair and purple.

Purple was his most favorite because it was his magic's chosen color, and if there was one thing Lord Voldemort loved, it was his magic.

Deep purple vest, deep purple trousers and a blue tie would look good. All silk.

Or a red tie would look better?

Voldemort turned to the tailor to tell him to choose a tie and a new suit when he saw the tailor's twitching body with opened eyes on the floor.

He clicked his tongue.

He had forgotten to lift the Cruciatus, and the additional Silencing Spell removed the screams, so it wasn't really his fault.

He couldn't remember every Crucio he cast, could he?

Stepping over the now brain-dead tailor, Lord Voldemort picked a blue tie and a beige one before returning to the mirror. Which to choose?

He had no idea how many tailors Lucius knew, but three were already dead—_he had really disliked the orange shirt and the bright pink tie_—and he had no need for idiots around him.

His sensual Mudblood would be arriving soon, so with a swish from his wand, the tailor's body disappeared.

It was the end of January. One month had passed since their amusing date, and Hermione was back to her normal—_as normal as one can be with him controlling everything_—self.

When the Mudblood—_Hermione_—came to him the first time after the date, she was twitchy and nervous around him, and he couldn't allow it.

He needed her relaxed with him.

She had to learn so much, and she couldn't concentrate on anything when she kept thinking about what he had done that night.

He didn't do anything compared to what he was going to do to her later …

She was confused and silent, and he didn't like it.

He lifted all the rules and allowed her to be herself because he didn't want to deal with a twitching idiot instead of the normally brilliant girl.

He was proven right—_like always_—when he judged that it would help her move on from the mental trauma—_the_ _burning people weren't to her taste yet_—and one month after their little fun, she was back to her usual self.

He behaved and didn't touch her, not even once, but he could see her lick her lips when she looked at his fingers or mouth.

She hated him, but she wanted him. He didn't want to remove the hating part yet—_it was so amusing_—but he wanted to hear her moans again.

Voldemort felt a tingle in his mind, and he knew Hermione had activated the ring. He allowed the Portkey activation—_she was twenty minutes early_—and the next second, she was standing before him, dressed in beige robes, a blue dress, and nude pumps.

_Nice._

Xxx

He was standing with his back to her in a light blue vest, white shirt, and pale blue trousers, holding a blue and a beige tie and trying to decide which one fit more. The pale colors were a perfect contrast to his jet-black hair.

Hermione met his pale eyes in the reflection, and she wanted to kick the wardrobe again as butterflies started their usual dance in her stomach.

"Hermione."

She was Hermione now and she liked it. After their encounter, Miss Granger sounded wrong.

"Marvolo."

She still could not believe he had allowed her to call him by his middle name—_in private only_—and she liked how it sounded. Much better than "Voldemort" or, god forbid, "my Lord".

As Hermione stepped closer, she noticed a yellow vest on the floor and picked it up.

It was silk and it was of the best quality she had seen. Why was it on the floor?

Voldemort turned around, and with an impatient sigh, he held out his hand for the vest.

Was he going to put it on?

As she handed him the vest, their fingers touched, and a spark of electricity hit her directly _there_.

She had to lick her dry lips when Marvolo slowly took off the blue vest—_never breaking their eye contact in the reflection_—and as he put on the yellow vest, Hermione had to stifle a laugh.

No wonder he never wore yellow.

He looked like a chicken.

While Hermione very quickly got used to the no-rules rule—_in private only_—she still sometimes expected him to cast his favorite curse on her.

What she didn't expect was the genuine smile she saw in the mirror.

"Are you sure you're not a lost relative of mine?"

Judging by her sanity, she could be.

While he joked around with her, his not-so-pure blood was something that she didn't dare to talk about as he quickly lost his good humor then.

"You should kill whoever told you it would look good on you."

It was out of her mouth even before she realized.

When would she start thinking before saying something to a psychopath and a murderer who fried people instead of chicken?

The yellow vest was on the floor again, and Hermione didn't make any attempts to pick it up. She didn't like it.

"I already have."

_Well _… what did she say?

Marvolo had now the pale blue vest on and it looked perfect.

Hermione wanted to think that his admission should have made her cry in horror—_a person was killed because the color was off_— but it was something Marvolo—_Voldemort_—did on a daily basis, and it simply didn't shock her anymore. At least she hadn't been here then.

While Hermione did not forget who she was dealing with—_how could she after he had so nicely reminded her_—she knew the signs that would warn her when she was standing on a thin ice and below was just pain. He allowed her much more than he allowed anyone else, and Hermione was thankful for it.

"Blue or beige?"

He was asking her about the ties, and Hermione realized how normal their conversation sounded.

"Neither."

An elegant eyebrow rose, and a huge leather case that was on the windowsill opened.

"Would you like to choose?"

Hermione's sick heart missed a beat as her eyes landed on the ties in the case.

He was letting her choose a tie for him.

Did it sound sexy or was she just that sick?

"Both."

While Marvolo didn't comment on her thoughts often now, when he did …

"I wouldn't rely on your interpretation of sanity."

The pot calling the kettle black.

A small smile from Marvolo and Hermione's hands were now touching silk ties, one smoother than another.

She had seen him wear one of the ties—_deep purple with silver stripes_—once and it was her favorite. But she liked the half lilac, half silver one as well.

"One for you, one for me."

Hermione shivered when she felt him stand behind her, so close that the silky texture of his trousers was touching her naked shin.

She wouldn't be taking his tie with her, would she?

As her hand was about to put the deep purple tie back into the case, Hermione felt arms around her waist and her heart started to run a marathon.

"Temptation is a very tricky mistress, Hermione. Sometimes, you have to give in."

She should have been afraid of his arms around her waist because the last time they were there, she ended up like a horny slut, pushing herself onto his fingers while people suffered around her.

But she wasn't.

Marvolo was like an itch.

It felt like she had an itching place _somewhere_—_she wasn't vulgar_—and it looked like only Marvolo would be able to scratch that itch.

At least once. Then it would stop itching. Maybe.

Hermione closed the case and held one tie in her hands—the half lilac, half silver one.

"But not always."

She wouldn't be taking his tie. She didn't need an additional reminder of him when he wasn't around.

She was now looking into pale-blue eyes that were laughing and Hermione thought if she dared.

Marvolo was looking at her with his head tilted to the right, and Hermione lifted the tie before slowly tying it around his neck.

He was taller than her and only the heels of the pumps allowed her to stand normally and not on her tiptoes.

They were standing so close that she saw the moment his pupils dilated a bit.

As she was trying to make the knot, her fingers trembled a bit, but she didn't stop.

"Do you have a lot of questions today?"

She was so thankful for his study-related question because her mind was anywhere but not where it was supposed to be.

"Not really. I will have more at the end of the week."

Her voice didn't tremble, and her hands were now steady.

"Do you still have problems with the Mind Arts?"

His head was still tilted to the right, and it was making it harder to tie the knot, so without even thinking, Hermione tilted his head back so that it would be straight.

Her fingers didn't shake, but her other parts shook like crazy when his pupils dilated a bit more.

"I do. I have to study everything on my own. "

If there was one professor Hermione did not like, it was Professor Chantal.

Professor Snape had been a blessing, compared to Professor Brigitte Chantel. She was vicious and nasty, and she hated Hermione.

She had been studying the Mind Arts for a month, and it didn't look so good at the moment. That was why she spent more and more time with Voldemort as he had to clear so many topics for her before she could move forward with her studies in the Mind Arts.

Hermione had kept quiet for some time, but it was the professor's job to teach, wasn't it?

Hermione needed to concentrate on what she was saying, as the tie was so smooth and silky—_and Marvolo smelled so good from such a close proximity_—that she bit her lip when she imagined it around her hands but in a different situation.

She needed to get her mind out of the gutter!

The hands on her waist didn't help the matter, and as she finished tying the knot, she looked at the pale-blue eyes that were watching her with interest.

"Are you hungry?"

Was he talking about food as in food or something else?

"The food."

If she thought about it, she was hungry. She hadn't eaten well today, and the onion rings made her stomach turn.

"No onion rings, I promise."

Last time she went out with him, he burned sixty people and finger-fucked her while werewolves were eating human flesh.

She had the right to be hesitant, and he _was_ asking instead of stating.

One did not last long in Lord Voldemort's almost daily presence without understanding the difference between a question and a statement.

She saw a corner of his mouth twitch.

What was so funny?

"You sound like someone I know."

_He doesn't know any normal people, so it isn't a compliment_, Hermione thought while correcting the knot.

"We will discuss all your questions, but first I want to eat."

_One could eat many things, a five-letter vulgar word included._

The mental slap she gave herself was so hard that she saw Marvolo wince for a millisecond.

He felt it as well!

Well, well, well …

He let go of her waist and walked over to the mirror, straightening his white shirt and the tie, his dark eyes watching her in the reflection.

Hermione shivered when she thought as to why they were dark now.

Did she affect him like he affected her?

"Close enough."

The butterflies turned to fiery dragons, and Hermione needed fresh air.

He was always honest—_except that one time_—and she knew he wasn't lying now.

"Come, we're going out. Unless, of course, you're in a hurry?" Voldemort asked, his eyes twinkling with knowledge that she wasn't.

"No rules?" Hermione asked as she watched a black cloak materialize around his shoulders.

"There are no rules between us when we are alone, Hermione. Did you forget?"

He offered his elbow, and she tentatively accepted.

"It doesn't hurt to make sure, does it?"

She even talked like him, with statements and one raised brow.

Maybe she _was_ his relative?

xxx

"How often do you come here?" she asked while opening a menu.

They were seating in a bar somewhere in China, and Hermione had to remind herself she wasn't dreaming.

They sat in a booth with slightly glimmering walls, and there was only a transparent table between them.

"From time to time. They have the best fillet-mignon and the sweetest red wine. "

Hermione could not believe what she was hearing.

Marvolo—_Lord Voldemort_—enjoyed food.

He was a foodie!

"Hermione, Hermione."

When he said her name twice and in such a tender voice, she heard the dragons roar.

_The fire would come soon._

"Tell me, when you ate the first real meal after your long and admirable adventure in the woods, how did it taste?"

_If he put it that way …_

"It was delicious."

"And imagine now how it would feel after thirteen years of being a spirit?"

He was showing unusual straightness and honesty—_he was always honest, just not like that_—and Hermione licked her lips before taking a sip of the wine.

"How did it feel to be a spirit?"

She _was_ curious.

Marvolo took a small sip from his glass, and Hermione's eyes zoomed onto his lips as a tongue darted out.

"I certainly didn't enjoy it."

That bad …

"Yes."

Hermione didn't know what to say when usually she didn't know how to shut up.

She couldn't say "I'm sorry."

She could say "You deserved it" and she'd get away with it, but she didn't want to ruin the atmosphere. She liked him like this—honest and straightforward.

_And calm._

Looking at the menu was a better option.

Hermione at first could not get used to the fact that all menus in the magical world were in the language you knew best—_a very interesting charm_—but when instead of Chinese she saw English—_the inclination was interesting_—it didn't surprise her. Not anymore.

She ate out very often as she didn't want to cook—_she didn't have the time or the will_—and since Voldemort was extremely generous—_she didn't have a limit set!_—she had to admit she started to lose money value from her grasp.

She gladly drank a tall glass of Latte Macchiato or a shot of espresso before going to the university, and she ate where she liked and what she liked. She could buy any book that interested her; she could try on any dress she saw; she could do anything she wanted and she didn't need to think about money.

At first, it felt weird, but then again, she had every day since May—_eight months_—to get used to it.

Hermione had to admit it felt good.

"Would you like to taste a snake?"

Which snake … did he mean ...

Her mental slap for herself—_she performed like in the Olympics, for the whole British team_—echoed in her mind, and with tears in her eyes, Hermione saw Marvolo choke on the wine.

He coughed a few times, holding to his chest with one hand and the other in a fist, and she was torn between laughing in glee and putting her feet on the table—_even the Master of Death choked on his sweet wine because she was such a sick individual_—or getting up and trying to help him.

Would she help him?

Hermione was luckily saved from having to answer such a stupid—_of course not!_—question as now Marvolo wasn't coughing anymore, but he had a hand over his eyes and his shoulders were shaking.

"I really don't know how you do it."

He was laughing.

Which meant he had been talking about food.

Just how many times could she embarrass herself like that?

It wasn't easy to save face when every single thought you had in your mind was immediately read by those smart, piercing pale eyes. They might be laughing now, but they still knew everything even better than herself.

And she couldn't even learn Occlumency and Legilimency because the professor was a nasty bitch.

"The snake is delicious. You should definitely try it."

Hermione could do nothing but smile in impuissance at the smiling Marvolo at his double-edged phrase.

"Will it not bite me?"

She _so_ did not ask that …

Hermione saw pale eyes get darker as pupils dilated, and her breath hitched.

"You are a snake charmer, aren't you, Hermione? You're a Parselmouth. So use your mouth."

Dear god …

Hermione wiggled in her chair as the dragons opened their jaws and fire started to burn her insides.

"Parseltongue is not only a language, Hermione."

She needed those underwear slips for people who peed without their knowledge.

She never knew she couldn't hold her bladder.

It wasn't the bladder, and she knew that he knew that she knew.

"The snake is served with a mouth-watering sauce that compliments the dish."

Fuck the slips, she needed diapers.

"And the texture of the snake is so tender but so hard at the same time that you cannot hold back a moan when it touches your tongue."

Hermione could only stare at his enlarged pupils and wish that she and Marvolo were somewhere else now.

In a bedroom.

"I don't need a bed to take you, Hermione. I can take you here, on this very table." Marvolo leaned a bit forward, and one hand took her palm while the other closed over it, the fingers at her pulse.

Her knees trembled a bit, and it was hard to breathe as those elegant fingers slowly drew lines on her arm while the other held still at the pulse point.

Hermione was so embarrassed at her own desires that she felt tears in her eyes.

"My sweet, there is nothing to be embarrassed about. If you cannot tell your future lover what you want, then whom can you tell?"

Did she hear right?

"Do you still have any doubts?" Marvolo was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, and his voice held a note of incredibility.

No, not really.

"Why me?"

Hermione wasn't blind, and she wasn't stupid, nor was she that naïve.

It was only because he was a psychopath and a sociopath that he didn't have hordes of willing witches around him, salivating over his power, knowledge, charisma, or beauty.

He didn't allow anyone near.

"Because you're special."

Hermione wanted to say she wasn't, but she didn't want to lie anymore. If he was honest, she'd be honest too.

"But that's not the only reason."

Marvolo tilted his head to the right as his thumb slowly drew circles on the inner side of her arm.

"It is not."

Very illuminating.

"Do you want me?"

She dared, but she was afraid of what he would say.

If he said "yes", she'd have to face her recent turbulent dreams in reality.

If he said "no" …

Hermione did not know what she would do then. She didn't even think about it before asking.

"You're asking the wrong question. Do _you_ want _me_?"

They both knew it, so there was no one to lie to here.

"Yes."

"Do you want my special attention or do you want sex only ?

When he said word "sex", her inner walls clenched and Hermione had to take a few breaths.

Fuck, what was he asking?

She understood the difference—one meant more than just sex, and the other was just sex with no obligations.

"Correct. Which one do you wish for? I shouldn't remind you to be careful with your wishes, should I?"

No, she didn't need a reminder.

She wanted him physically only; she didn't want to be _with_ him.

He was a monster.

And if he allowed that separation, she'd take it happily. That was what she had wished for!

"I wish for only sex."

There, she said it. Had she no modesty at all?

The smile on his face was genuine as he looked at her with squinted, pale-blue eyes.

"Had you said anything else, I would have been greatly disappointed."

She wanted him so much that she didn't care where he took her, if he took her soon.

"Patience is a virtue, Hermione, and I will teach you patience. Among other things."

The smile was so promising that Hermione shivered.

She couldn't wait.

"Should we try the snake, Hermione?"

Marvolo winked and Hermione smiled.

"With the sauce, please."

They deserved each other.

xxx

Hermione Apparated to her apartment several hours later with a smile on her face and a full stomach. The snake had been delicious, and she drank a lot of wine, so now she just wanted to crash into her bed and sleep. She had a lot of classes tomorrow and she needed rest.

She knew what kind of dreams she'd have today, but it didn't bother her anymore.

Sex was sex, Marvolo had said, and it had nothing to do with emotions.

She wasn't declaring her loyalty to the Dark side; she would just fuck with the Dark Lord.

_Someday_.

Marvolo wasn't in a hurry—_his words_—and she'd have to wait, but the knowledge that it would happen made her heart flutter.

"Had a good time?"

Shit.

Looking at Ron's pursed lips and squinted, suspicious blue eyes, Hermione felt the guilt eat at her insides.

No wonder she was obsessed about Marvolo. She was also a monster.

Xxx


	19. One step closer

_a/n _

_Hi!_

_Yay! Look who's back! My new laptop is already put to good use :)_

_Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! You cannot imagine how I love reading them. _

_I am so glad you decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, and assumed I'd open up Ron's character later, and not leave him shallow or simple. You were right!_

_I will not leave any important character without my attention, so no worries. _

_Ron has his own POV, so that should clear up some questions. I hope you'll like him._

_Get a life- Well, Serp already answered you, so I won't waste my energy. Open your eyes and look in which section you are. It's Volmione/Tomione. Enough said._

_I will warn everyone one more time._

_The story will be very dark, with dark, adult themes ahead. If you cannot read about Voldemort and Hermione, then go away and don't read. But don't tell me I am insane. _

_The next chapter will be the last. After chapter 20, I'll start the third part of the story, and I'll post it here. The name of the story will not change, but the summary will. _

_Can you guess the name for the 3rd part? It has a word Horcrux in it XD_

_Info : 1 Galleon is 5 British Pounds. I base the prices on real world, so it should be accurate. A wand still costs 7 Galleon. I don't pay that much attention to small money- Sickles and Knuts._

_Beta: the best! _

_Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Nineteen

**14th February**

"Five Knuts and fifteen Sickles."

How much? But didn't it say on the tag that it was on discount?

If he gave away now five Knuts, he would still have twenty-five. But would that be enough?

He wanted this day to be special.

He wanted to invite Hermione to dinner; he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.

He had woken up to see the world he knew destroyed, and even though he smiled and joked, he didn't feel that happy inside.

His brother was dead, the Dark Side had won, and Hermione was Voldemort's ward.

His Hermione.

How had she changed …

Not only did she looked different—_like a gorgeous pure-blood_—she also thought differently. They were the small changes, but he noticed everything. He took mental notes.

And he was afraid to say out loud what realization he was coming to when he put it all together.

He would not even think about it!

And he couldn't talk to Harry because Harry was now always busy without telling him, his best friend, where he was spending all his time. Something big was happening to Harry and he could do nothing.

He almost wished to regret crossing over the barrier, but then again, he had had no chance against the magic that simply grabbed him and pushed him over the edge, through the fog.

Voldemort made him wake up.

_Sometimes …_

Sometimes, he wished he hadn't.

Ron Weasley took out the money and paid for the rose.

A red rose as a small symbol of love from him.

He loved her so much.

His Hermione.

_xxx_

Was he really that kind of bastard?

He didn't have to do it. Hermione was shaping up beautifully, and he was sure she'd be amusing, but he so wanted to do it that he didn't care about the consequences. He knew the final outcome of this _conversation_, but it didn't spoil the enjoyment. It only made it stronger.

It was always a pleasure to watch the destruction of a person and know you were responsible for it.

He hoped the pig would not disappoint.

If he had any conscience, it was chained somewhere in the depths with unbreakable chains to a wall and it didn't even make a sound.

Not one.

Since he could remember himself—_and his memory was just like he was, brilliant_—he had not experienced guilt or remorse even once.

He liked the pain that he caused. And he had caused a lot of pain over the years.

There had not been even one person who he could feel anything for.

He_ couldn't _feel.

He had no flaws, but if he absolutely had to name one, then he'd name the inability to fully understand what those pathetic feeling meant to other people.

How could he explain the jumping-in-front-of-his-Killing-Curses Gryffindors?

He had always been curious and it _was_ an interesting topic.

_Human emotions._

He wanted to see them all.

And he already knew the colors of the emotional spectrum the pig would provide.

It fit well with his plan for Hermione, and therefore, he could give in to the temptation.

Lord Voldemort turned in the bright-red chair and put his dragon-hide shoes onto the table.

He wasn't a bastard. He was worse.

_xxx_

"I will evaluate your work and give you a mark. The test results will be included in the semester's final note. Do you have questions? "

Hermione could only purse her lips as Professor Chantel almost sneered at her.

Not only did she not teach properly, she also behaved like a bitch.

What was her problem?

Hermione could think all she wanted as the professor was unable to read her thoughts—_and it really pissed the bitch off_—and Hermione had never been more thankful for the Occlumency walls that Voldemort had raised.

Her mind was protected, but she needed to learn how to do it on her own.

Professor Chantel was a pure-blood witch around forty with a long mane of bright-red hair and a snobby face, and it looked like she hated all Muggle-borns. Hermione especially.

"I have a question, professor."

Hermione saw the bitch roll her eyes—_seriously_!—and with a sneer on her painted face, the professor turned to her.

"What is still unclear for you, Granger?"

_Bitch_.

"Will the magical guardian only have to supervise the practical part or does the guardian also have to create the initial base before we add our layers of spells, Professor?"

The Mind Arts wasn't only Legilimency and Occlumency; there were so many branches of the Mind Arts that at first Hermione was horrified.

How was she supposed to learn it all if the professor didn't teach properly?

"Your guardian has to build the base and mark the direction before you start adding your spells. Is that a problem?"

"No, professor. Thank you for the explanation."

At least Voldemort would do it quickly and she'd have more time for her own layers.

If only this so-called professor knew just _who _her guardian was ...

They had to create a mental landscape in a Pensieve that would show waterfalls that changed to flowing rivers depending on the will of the caster. This practical lesson was meant to teach the basics for Introvert Occlumency, and only when they learned how to switch the landscape would they be able to learn how to build the Occlumency walls.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded, and that was why the guardian had to do the base part.

She was lucky Voldemort was a genius in all parts of the Mind Arts; otherwise, she'd get a Troll.

_xxx_

Ron closed the door—_he had a key_—and with a smile, he walked to the living room. Hermione would be late today because she had a lot of classes, but he came earlier to decorate the living room with candles for Valentine's Day. He wanted to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend.

Officially together.

As Ron entered the living room, the rose fell from his fingers to the floor.

In the bright-red chair sat a man with his polished shoes on the table, and Ron could only stare at him.

It was one thing to see him in the newspapers, but it was a completely different experience when he was so near. He could feel magic radiating from the half-leaning figure of what could be only Lord Voldemort.

He had jet-black hair that was elegantly styled, his face was refined, and he was a handsome man. His eyes were very pale, and he was wearing a white shirt and a blood-red tie. The shimmering vest was the same deep-purple color as his trousers, and the shoes on the table were made of what could only be dragon skin.

This was Voldemort?!

"Is the branch for me, Weasley? You shouldn't have. I dislike weeds."

His voice was smooth but had a demeaning note to it, and Ron felt an angry blush spread over his face.

"What are you doing here?"

He was a Gryffindor and he wasn't a coward.

_It couldn't get worse._

"Me? I own this place. What are _you_ doing here?"

Voldemort got up from the chair and Ron swallowed hard. What was he supposed to do?

"Sit quietly and listen, lover boy."

Ron wanted to say that he wasn't taking orders from him, but the pale eyes shone red and Ron sat onto the couch, his limbs tense.

He tried not to pay attention to the handsome, cruel face, or tall and lean figure, or the silky clothing that shimmered when the rays from the sun landed on the material.

_Who am I compared to him?_

And Hermione saw _this_ man almost every day.

"Tell me, Weasley, what do you think I and Hermione do when she comes to me?"

Voldemort walked slowly around the living room before sitting back into the red chair that Hermione so loved.

Ron was sitting opposite of him, and he had never felt so pathetic in his whole life.

He tried not to think about what Hermione did with this man when she was all alone. He couldn't think about it if he wanted to remain sane.

"Do you think that we have sex, Weasley? Do you imagine how I take Hermione's body in every possible position while listening to her moans of pleasure?"

Ron couldn't feel his heart anymore. It was frozen in horror.

"Or do you imagine her pretty mouth around my cock, sucking me off?"

Voldemort was smirking, and Ron dashed forward, trying to do anything but sit and listen to this horror.

"_Maleo Sensa!"_

The next second, Ron was on the floor, his body thrashing in horrible pain, and he screamed.

The curse was lifted, and a shiny shoe was now on his face as Voldemort stood up.

It _was_ dragon skin.

"Or you imagine her full naked breasts as I suck her nipples?"

Ron could not do anything as the shoe was pushing his face to the floor, almost breaking his cheek. His mind was numb and his heart shattered. Voldemort was telling him exactly what he had imagined in his nightmares.

"Hermione would never touch you!" Ron managed to bark out before the shoe hit him, breaking his nose.

"If you dirty my shoes, you'll have to buy new ones. And thirty Sickles will not really help you, lover boy."

How Ron hated him.

How could Hermione spend so much time in his presence and not go crazy?

The shoe was removed from his bloodied face with a broken nose as Voldemort went back to sit in the red chair.

"Listen to me carefully and don't make me repeat myself."

Ron swallowed the blood he so wanted to spit into that refined face and sat onto the couch.

_Is this really happening?_

"Hermione is my magical ward, and I am her guardian. She doesn't interest me physically, you idiot boy."

Ron's heart started to beat again as the frozen ice started to crack.

He wasn't lying, was he?

"I am Lord Voldemort. I don't touch Mudbloods."

Ron wanted to say Hermione wasn't a Mudblood, but he kept his mouth shut. If Voldemort saw Hermione as a Mudblood, then he wouldn't touch her. Would he?

"There is no relationship between us, Weasley. So you can breathe now."

"Why are you here?"

Hermione had told him herself that Voldemort never visited the apartment. What did he want?

Whom had he come to meet—Hermione or him?

"Have you seen your reflection, Weasley? How can you go near my ward dressed like a riffraff?"

Ron could only grit his teeth.

It wasn't his fault that his family had always been poor, and after the Dark Side took over, it became even worse. He couldn't find any job!

"You will allow the Mudblood to buy you the clothes she wants and you will allow her to pay for everything. Do I make myself clear?"

He wasn't a fucking charity! He was a man!

"I will not allow my ward, who has a part of my soul in her, to run around with garbage as her company. It reflects badly on my reputation. I am the Dark Lord and not Dumbledore."

Voldemort crossed his feet and Ron saw dark-purple socks peek out.

"You don't have any relationship with Hermione?" Ron asked with held breath as Voldemort lean back into the chair, the piercing blue eyes drilling holes in him.

"I think I told you already, haven't I?"

Thank Merlin there was nothing between them as Ron could not even sleep without jealousy and fear of losing Hermione clouding his mind and heart. Nonetheless, a bitter taste filled his mouth as Ron understood finally who Hermione sounded like.

"What can you do, Weasley?"

"What?"

"'I beg your pardon', not 'what'. Have some class, boy." Voldemort was looking at him with a smirk. "I'll rephrase the question for the dimwitted. What are you good at?"

He wasn't a dimwit!

He was good at many things!

He could play chess well, and he was good at Quidditch, and….

"You have an unfinished Hogwarts education, and even those six years you should have spent studying as hard as possible, you were being the lazy idiot that you are and copying Hermione's work or cheating otherwise."

Ron's face was red with anger, and he could feel his fists clench and unclench.

"You have no job not because I won, but because you're a lazy loser, Ronald Weasley."

"I am not a loser!"

He wasn't a loser, he wasn't pathetic, and he wasn't lazy!

"Of course you're not. You're the epitome of success. Will you give me your autograph?"

Voldemort was now smiling, and with hate, Ron thought he resembled a snake. Or a crocodile.

"What can you offer the Mudblood? Enlighten me, Weasley. I am very curious to hear your genius thoughts."

Ron felt fire burn his insides. He had never been so humiliated, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I can offer her love, I can offer her a family, I can make her happy!"

Ron did not know why, but he felt the need to explain himself, to make Voldemort see that Ron had more to offer than him. Hermione wasn't interested in money or success; she wanted to be normal.

Just like he was—normal.

Ron saw Voldemort smirk slightly as he drank his wine. Ron hated the sweet wine Hermione always drank, but it looked like Voldemort didn't.

"Yes, your family is known for its productiveness. How many new riffraffs do you plan on producing with the Mudblood? Three, five, or you'll go for the record? And who is going to feed them all? Me?"

Dear god how he hated him.

"We are not riffraffs! At least we're normal."

He expected a curse to hit him, but he didn't expect Voldemort to laugh.

"If you say so. I am offering you a job, Weasley."

What?

"'I beg your pardon', not 'what'. Are you really that dense?"

A job? Voldemort?

"Whether or not you accept it is up to you. You can start working tomorrow already with the Chudley Cannons."

Ron could not believe what he was hearing. Voldemort was offering him a position on his favorite team!

His family so needed the money! He could earn the money and then ask Hermione to be his girlfriend—_he won't be doing it today._

It was Voldemort who was offering, and it was crazy, but he did need a job!

"What position would I play?"

He was a good goalkeeper, but he would gladly try any position. It was a dream come true! Maybe he would be famous; maybe luck would be on his side and he would become someone like Viktor Krum.

To make Hermione proud.

Ron's internal musings were interrupted as he saw Voldemort hold a hand over his eyes as he laughed.

"You'll be the cleaning service, you idiot. You wouldn't qualify for the team even if I killed all your competition."

What?!

"Cleaning service?!"

"And what did you expect with your level of knowledge and magical power? The post of the Minister, perhaps? You certainly outshine pathetic people like Lucius Malfoy, who has two Masters from Illuminus University of Magic. What can you—under-schooled, uneducated, magically-weak fool with no perspectives—do but clean after others? You have to be useful _somehow_."

Voldemort was leaning back in the chair as he was inspecting his manicured fingers, and for a second, Ron wanted to hide his fingers with bitten fingernails.

"I will not be wiping floors!"

Ronald wanted to hit that smirking, mocking face so much that he heard his teeth grit from the force of his will that was holding his jaw closed. He would never even reach Voldemort for the hit and he knew it.

They both knew it, Ron understood as the smirking bastard clicked his tongue in mock understanding.

"I am sure your mother will be disappointed to hear that her son refused a job offer because he thinks so highly of himself. You have three days to decide. Your majesty can contact the team owner for the information."

Voldemort got up from the chair, walked around it once—_weirdo_—and straightened his vest before turning to face Ron.

"Tell the Mudblood I'll be away. I will contact her when I am back."

And with that, the Dark Lord Apparated away.

Ron could only stare at the empty red chair. He felt numb.

_xxx_

Hermione opened the door and was surprised when she didn't find Ron in the apartment.

Taking all her three bags into one hand, Hermione took the heels off and sat into her favorite red chair.

As she leaned back, massaging her foot, she noticed the familiar cool scent in the air.

_Especially around her red chair._

With quick eyes, Hermione saw the wine glass on the table and she understood.

Voldemort had been here.

Before Hermione could start the hysterics in regards to why Ron was now missing, she saw him walk in from the balcony.

"He said he would be away. And that he would contact you himself."

At least she didn't have to guess anymore if Ron had met Voldemort.

"What did he do to you?"

She should be grateful Ron was alive and well.

What did Voldemort tell him? If he told Ron anything about the agreement …

Ron sat on the sofa opposite of hers, and Hermione thought she had never seen Ron so serious.

What did the bastard do to her Ron?

_xxx_

"Twenty-five million Galleons."

How much? This was preposterous!

The team wasn't the best in the world, and he knew the owner was losing money instead of making them.

_He'd fix it._

"Twenty million, Mr. Cannon."

Five million here, five million there, but it was the point of bargaining. He didn't care about the five million that his wife would spend on some crap anyway.

"Twenty it is, Minister Malfoy. It's a pleasure to do business with you."

Of course it was. He was Lucius Malfoy and he had a reputation.

As the now-previous owner of the Chudley Cannons left his office, Lucius leaned back into his black leather chair.

"Would you like anything, Minister?"

The pretty head of his attractive secretary was now in the doorway, and Lucius pondered for a second if he would leave earlier today.

What Narcissa did not know would not hurt her.

He loved Narcissa only, but it was like a candy store. And always eating milk chocolate made you crave for lacritz or lollipops.

As long as he was cautious and careful—_his wife's direct words from years ago_—he could do anything he wanted without having to fear for Narcissa's reaction.

And Narcissa didn't have to suffer when he was in a _special_ mood. She didn't appreciate it and gladly pushed him to the _other_ sources when she saw that he needed an outlet.

Lucius was about to tell Andrea what he wanted when the door opened fully, and she was pushed to the side.

Lucius shot up from his Minister chair as Lord Voldemort entered the office and sat on the sofa.

_What did he do? Did he fail somewhere? He couldn't have, but_—

"Lucius."

"My Lord." As Lucius bowed, he noticed the purple colors his Lord was wearing today.

He hoped his fourth tailor pleased his Lord because he now wanted a similar suit as well.

If he lived that long.

"Did you acquire the Quidditch team?"

He did, but he still couldn't understand what his Lord wanted with it. He had never seen his Lord watch Quidditch.

Was this a new hobby?

"I have, my Lord. Everything is done exactly like you wished."

"Lucius, tell me. Why couldn't you have been so efficient all those years? Why are you only now showing your full capabilities?"

It was a praise and Lucius wanted to laugh in glee, but the hinting at his failures made him bow instead.

"I live to serve you, my Lord."

Not only, but he did.

"When was the last time you went to the Sahara for the Sand fest?"

Lucius didn't have to think long as he had not been to the fest since his Lord was _delayed_ by the toddler Potter.

Was his Lord really saying what he was saying?

A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the last time he had been there, almost seventeen years ago. While he was a Malfoy and he could go anywhere, he kept away from the Sand fest in order to maintain control over his darker side while his Lord was _away_.

The Sand fest was made for the Dark Wizards and Witches who had not-so-standard tastes in carnal pleasures.

It was like a slave market, but all the slaves were willing and they enjoyed the _special_ attention. The quality and purity of the _products_ were incredible, and even after seventeen years, Lucius could not forget what he had experienced there.

"You have showed me that you are trustworthy and you have redeemed yourself, Lucius. You may come with me, if your tastes hadn't changed."

Fuck yes!

"My Lord, that would be an honor. Thank you."

Lucius had to lick his lips as he could already imagine what kind of evening he'd have today.

And he was thinking about some shitty secretary …

His sadistic side was now raving in anticipation and Lucius had never been happier to serve his Master.

The Dark Lord understood him better that anyone else.

_xxx_

"And then he offered me a job, as a cleaning service, Hermione!"

Hermione was sitting in her chair with her legs bent as she listened to Ron explain what had happened when she hadn't been here.

She wanted to say that a job was a job and that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Her mother and father had not always been doctors, and Hermione could remember well how she played with jigsaw puzzles while her mom cleaned the rooms when Hermione had been four years old. Money was money.

But somehow, she felt it was wiser to keep her mouth shut.

As Ron was about to continue expressing his feelings, Cleo flew through the opened windows and dropped a roll into Hermione's outstretched hands.

Quickly opening the roll and the seal—_Illuminus_—Hermione almost smacked her face when she read the content of the document.

She had forgotten to get Voldemort's signature for the Dark Arts practical test. And without the guardians'—_or the second responsible figure's_—written approval she could not take the test.

Shit.

Voldemort was away—_where did he go?_—and with pursed lips, Hermione understood she needed to go to the Ministry quickly to get Lucius's signature instead. Lucius Malfoy was her second guardian and it meant that in some cases, his approval would be enough. Voldemort had approved it anyway, just not signed it.

Shit.

"Ron, I am sorry, but I need to go to the Ministry of Magic."

Ron was looking at her with pursed lips, and Hermione wanted to hug him, but she needed to go.

"The Ministry? Why?"

Hermione was putting her heels on and already had a coat in her hands.

"Because I forgot to get Voldemort's approval for the test, and seeing that he had told you he'd be away, I need Lucius's signature."

Hermione had been to the Ministry five times already as it looked like Voldemort did not enjoy paperwork.

It had been Lucius who had signed the necessary documents—_the bureaucracy was horrible in the magical world_—and while Hermione did not forget that Lucius was also a monster, he wasn't that bad with her. Not anymore, at least.

And he asked her to call him "Lucius".

Since Malfoy had always been Draco, Hermione didn't have a problem with it. She could refuse, but what would she get out of it? It was better to have normal relationships with people who played a role in her life now. Malfoys included.

"So he's Lucius now. Do you drink tea with his wife as well?"

Ron was now standing with his arms crossed, and Hermione wished to stay and talk sense into him, but she was in a hurry. If Malfoy didn't sign it today, she'd be in huge trouble tomorrow.

"I'll be back soon, ok?" Hermione hugged the tense figure of her friend and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll be at the Burrow, Hermione."

_Oh._

Well, he did spend a lot of time here, so it was logical he'd want to go home. Especially if he had met Lord Voldemort today for the first time and lived to tell the tale.

At least Voldemort used Maleo Sensa only. She knew how creative he could be when he really wanted to be.

"I'll see you soon then!"

Hermione Apparated away, not noticing the rose in the trashbin or the sad eyes of Ronald Weasley who understood that Hermione did not even remember that today was Valentine's Day.

_xxx_

Her heels clicked on the polished marmor as Hermione approached the wing of Minister for Magic. The cool grey, black, and silver tones were really tasteful, and the dim lights fitted the atmosphere.

Now, when the Minister was Lucius Malfoy—_with Lord Voldemort behind his back_—the level of respect towards the Minister and Ministry in total drastically changed.

Hermione could see four people sit in the waiting lounge, and as she approached Andrea, she could feel the eyes of the visitors on her.

"Hermione!"

Andrea Andersen was a friendly witch with long, sand-blond hair and smart eyes. Even though she was a pure-blood and was a definite fan of the new regime, she took an instant liking to Hermione. It would be a lie if Hermione said she didn't like her.

"Andrea! How are you?"

Andrea came around her huge desk and hugged the smaller witch.

"I am wonderful. And you? Don't tell me you forgot to get documents signed again?"

Andrea was smiling mischievously but not mockingly, and Hermione smiled back.

"I have. Do you think I could get it done quickly?"

She could wait with the others, but if she didn't have to …

"Mister Malfoy is not alone, Hermione. No one is allowed." Andrea made a small movement on the inside of her left arm where the Death Eaters had their Dark Marks, and Hermione understood who was now inside the office.

Voldemort.

_Even better._

"Could you still ask them if I may come in?"

Hermione saw Andrea wince and shake her head. Even though Andrea knew who her guardian was, she wasn't willing to take any chances.

Not that Hermione blamed her.

Even if she'd gotten used to the company of Lord Voldemort, it didn't mean the others did as well.

As Hermione was about to twist her ring and ask for the Portkey activation, the door opened and both Voldemort and Lucius walked out.

Hermione's heart missed a beat as she took in the dark shimmering suit and the blood-red tie before meeting pale-blue eyes.

He looked so good today.

"Hermione?" Voldemort sounded surprised and Hermione smiled a bit as she handed him the roll.

"I am sorry. I forgot to get this signed, and tomorrow, I have the test, and without—"

Hermione's ramblings were stopped when Voldemort simply opened the roll, and taking out his wand, he signed it.

"Anything else?"

Well … not really. Was he in a hurry?

Hermione saw Lucius tell something to Andrea before coming over to greet her.

"Hermione."

Voldemort allowed it—_otherwise, Lucius would have never offered_—and Hermione nodded her head in greeting.

"Lucius."

She was on the first name basis with the Minister of Britain and the Dark Lord—_Marvolo in private_—who controlled both Britain and France.

Hermione told herself it didn't matter, but she felt pleased anyway when she saw the other visitors glance at her with incredibility and envy in their eyes. She was a Mudblood, and she still stood higher than them all.

Lucius had a black suit on with a dark-grey tie, and the contrast with his pale-blond hair was astonishing.

Voldemort and Lucius looked like day and night. Two opposites but both extremely alluring.

Where were they going?

"Out."

_Very funny_, Hermione thought as Voldemort and Lucius put their cloaks on.

She wanted to talk to Voldemort—_Marvolo_—about his visit to her apartment and the conversation with Ron, but it looked like he wasn't interested in listening to her now.

"I will contact you." Voldemort fastened the black coat that ended just above his knees and Hermione saw the deep-purple trousers shimmer lightly.

_Silk_.

"Hermione." Lucius now held his famous cane in the gloved hand.

With those words, both Dark Wizards were gone.

That was fast ...

"They are going to the Sahara."

Andrea was now whispering into her ear so that the others would not overhear.

Lucius had to give his location as he was the Minister for Magic of a country and therefore Andrea—_his secretary_—knew a lot.

"What is in the Sahara?"

Were they going camel riding?

"The Sand fest is today."

Hermione heard Andrea whisper, and she felt sick to her stomach.

She read about the Sand fest, and she knew what camels they both would be riding today.

She didn't care what Lucius did—_the nasty cheater_—but Voldemort …

Marvolo was going to be having fun today and not with her.

She never knew it would hurt so much.

She wanted to cry rivers now, but she wasn't some love-sick fool who allowed people to wipe their feet on her.

Fuck him and his fest.

Asshole.

_xxx_

"Do you plan on taking over Italy as well?"

Viscal Pare was a dark-skinned wizard with white hair and brown, smart eyes, and if Voldemort removed the atrocious Voodoo clothing that Pare had always been wearing, he could say he looked interesting.

Pare didn't leave his territory in Africa—_if only for the feasts_—and that was the only reason he was still alive.

Normally, Voldemort would have killed him as well—_fire elemental and a powerful wizard_—but Pare had never cared about power or glory.

He liked to play with his dolls and talk to fire, somewhere in the woods or desert.

And he _was _an interesting conversationalist when he wasn't high.

Voldemort was about to say that he had not decided yet, when he felt his mind shake.

What?!

The shelves with his memories and mental notes shook again as he heard a loud bang echo around his mind.

_Now that had hurt._

He had come to the fest to talk to Pare and to get new knives—_he had his kicks_—and while Lucius was already _somewhere _around, Voldemort hadn't come here to fuck.

He wanted to tighten his leash on Lucius and he didn't even think about the Mudblood—_Hermione_—before meeting her in the Ministry.

But it looked like she thought about him.

The loud bang sounded again, and Voldemort gripped the knife tighter. He was going to kill her.

_xxx_

Hermione didn't know when she became so crazy, but she didn't care now about anything but causing _someone _as much discomfort and pain as possible.

"_I really suggest you stop."_ That blasted Horcrux could not keep his mouth shut when she needed to concentrate.

"I'm not talking to you."

With a nasty smirk and shining eyes, Hermione raised her wand and cast one more Magnifying Spell on the biggest bell she found in the whole Italy, in Rome. The barrier around the huge bell wouldn't allow the others to hear it, but she could hear it _very _well.

Bang.

Her mind shook so hard that Hermione was afraid she'd get a concussion, but she was obviously insane already, so the damage would not be noticed.

If Voldemort felt her mental slaps, then she was sure he'd feel the loudest bell in Italy, especially if she was standing so close to it.

_Asshole_.

She was egging the Dark Lord on and she knew it.

Let him come here and Cruciate her. At least she'd know where he was and what he was doing.

Hermione used to think she knew what jealousy felt like, but she was proven wrong again when after leaving the Ministry, she could not concentrate on anything, and she just wanted to cry in anger and hate … and hurt one black-haired bastard.

Who did he think he was?

Did he think that, what, he could play with her and then just fuck around?

They hadn't had sex yet, but ...

And she needed his help with the Mind Arts!

She was so used to the fact that he always had time for her that today had been a nasty wake-up call.

Bang.

She really hoped he enjoyed it.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Just as Hermione was about to cast the most powerful sound spell she knew—_and probably lose her hearing for a while_—she was brutally turned around and was now staring into angry red eyes.

"Are you a masochist or just insane?"

_Probably both_, Hermione thought as she mentally danced in glee.

_Hahaha. Look who came for a visit._

_Is something the matter?_

Hermione saw Voldemort hold a knife in his hand—_an elegant dagger_—and before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed the knife from his relaxed hold.

She saw his eyes turn pale-blue when she held the dagger in her hand, near her throat. Just like all those months ago.

She could kill herself and end this nightmare she was becoming. She understood that the hole was getting deeper and deeper every day, and soon she wouldn't see the skies anymore.

"Be my guest."

Voldemort was smiling nastily now, and Hermione had never wanted to hurt him more.

The thought that crossed her mind was so insane, but she so wanted it, and as she raised her hand with the dagger, she saw honest, unveiled surprise in Marvolo's pale eyes.

As her hand plunged the dagger into his shoulder—_far away from the heart but very deeply_— she saw his pale eyes turn black as his pupils became so large that the blue almost disappeared.

She heard his hiss of pain before she was roughly pulled by her hair and those cruel lips crashed onto hers.

As Hermione felt Marvolo rip the dagger from his shoulder, one of his arms held her tight around her middle and the other—_with his blood on it_— was now on her face, holding her head as he ravaged her eager lips.

_He had lost control_, Hermione understood while shivering from a maddening mix of arousal, fear, and anticipation.

_Finally. _

_xxx_

_a/n Smiles :) I hope you liked it. I wanted to show you the difference how Lucius sees money, and how Ron sees money. 20 million for a Quidditch team is ok when you think about how much Real Madrid, Bayern or any NHL or any American Football team costs._

_Please review and let me know! Waves!_


	20. World of Monsters

_a/n _

_Hi!_

_A lot of questions are answered in this chapter, as I decided that Voldemort and Lucius could explain it better than I could in any a/n. And they're better storytellers :)_

_This is the last chapter for the second part. While I have not planned on having any sort of lemon in the 2nd part, it ran away from me, and therefore, there is a lemon in this chapter. I didn't go in details, as the adult part comes only in the 3rd installment. However, fanfiction has strict rules and I don't want the story to be deleted just because of the smut. So, from this chapter on, the lemons will be posted on adultfanfiction. I will let you know for each chapter if there is something cut out._

_This chapter has a lemon (it's so innocent that I call it lemonade), and it's only in the beginning. If you want to read the deleted lines, you can do so on adultfanfiction. There is not much in this chapter, and not reading this lemon will not change the story for you._

_I have changed the summary, as I find it more fitting now, when I have reached the 3rd part of the story. I added a/n to the first chapter, so if you're interested, you can read it. I also named all the chapters as there are many now, and it's easier that way._

_Thank you for your great feedback! We have already established that I'm a sucker for reviews, so I won't go in details :)_

_Your reviews are greatly appreciated._

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

Chapter Twenty

His lips were so tender that as she kissed him, she couldn't help but bite the lower lip and lick the wound with her tongue.

Her high-heel clad foot slowly crawled up the hard ass as she lay on the bed under Marvolo, and Hermione wanted to roar from pleasure. The mental walls were down; his emotions was mixed with hers, arousal and desire were multiplied, and pleasure was shared.

They were one person now, and the main dish had not even been touched yet.

She felt complete.

She felt him press hard against her, and Hermione felt all her nerve ends electrify.

He drove her crazy; he was like a drug.

And she was already addicted.

When she thought about who she was now undressing, whose silky shirt she was now ripping apart, when she thought about the power she had over him now, Hermione couldn't breathe from her arousal.

He was hers.

She was an eighteen-year-old Muggle-born who had a kind of power, no matter which type, over the most powerful wizard in centuries.

She was in bed with the Dark Lord.

And it turned her on.

The lips were now moving down, and Hermione bit her lip not to moan when she felt hot breath on her nipple. Only the thin dress was now separating the lips and her breast.

Just how turned on could she get?

"No rules."

Hermione's loud moan echoed in her bedroom, as the dress was vanished and the lips closed over her erect nipple.

Her hands suddenly felt naked back, as the clothing was now fully gone, and as she looked into pale blue eyes with large pupils, Hermione could only lean up, claiming those sensual lips for herself.

**xxx cut scene xxx**

The lips were now slow and sensual, and Hermione's hand was combing through the black silky hair.

She was half-sitting, half-lying on Marvolo, and her shaking body was held by two elegant hands that slowly drew lines on her naked behind.

She couldn't think about anything and anyone but her lover. She was still high from all the pleasure, and her body was so tired that if it hadn't been for the body beneath her, she would have fallen asleep.

The gentle lips were now on her neck, and Hermione wiggled in pleasure.

She wanted more.

A throaty chuckle left those perfect lips that had given her such pleasure today, and the next second, Hermione was turned to the side with Marvolo behind her.

She wanted this night to never end.

_xxx_

Hermione opened her eyes and blinked the sleep away. What a dream!

With a sting to her stomach, Hermione understood it hadn't been a dream when she felt the soreness as she stretched in her bed, and when she tried to sit up, Hermione found out she could barely sit straight.

Dear God!

Hermione quickly turned to the side to see if Marvolo was still here but found herself alone in the bedroom.

What had she expected?

Hermione could barely comprehend what had happened in the night—_and before, during her mental breakdown_—but she didn't regret anything.

She had been afraid in the beginning that Voldemort would be very rough and show his sadistic side, but she found out that he could be very gentle, and the introduction to carnal pleasures was the same as to the Dark Arts when he had taught her. Hermione understood that tonight had been an exception, and later—_at that thought her already sore parts clenched in anticipation_—he would show her everything.

Hermione had been a virgin, but she had watched TV and she read a lot. But she had never known that men could last that long.

Marvolo had to special in this area as well.

"Occlumency."

Hermione's eyes darted to the door where Marvolo was standing, leaning a bit on the doorframe, and her heart missed a beat as she looked at him.

She had slept with him.

She tasted him and his lips had been _there_.

She knew every birthmark he had as her lips had marked every piece of his skin. He knew her every curve as he wasn't greedy in bed and gladly pleasured her body.

He was too good to be true.

Marvolo had the deep purple trousers on, and the white shirt was in one piece now, but the vest and the tie were missing.

His hair was styled again—_she really made a mess with it_—and Hermione blushed as she looked him in the eye.

She needed to buy a new concealer—_for the theatre_—because her standard color would not remove the blush that would now always stay on her face when she looked at Marvolo.

To say the night had been interesting would be an insult.

It was magical.

And he was still here.

"Occlumency?" Hermione asked, licking her lips, as Marvolo stepped into the room and sat on the bed near her.

"Mhm. You can control all your physical reactions with Occlumency. The stronger the Occlumens, the longer the finale can be postponed."

Hermione couldn't hide the smile that spread over her lips at his playful tone.

She so wanted to touch his face that she couldn't stop her hand when it reached out, and her fingertips slowly traced the elegant lips.

She felt the fire burn again as her fingertips were sucked into the hot mouth, and Hermione kicked the blanket away, crawling over to the sitting figure before putting her hands around his neck while sitting into his lap, not ashamed of her nudity. He had already told her to never be ashamed in bed and not to be afraid to do anything she wanted.

He allowed her everything.

"Eager, aren't we?"

Hermione smiled as she sucked his earlobe.

She wasn't the only one eager here judging by the hardness she could feel through the silk trousers.

"Very." Hermione bit the earlobe and was rewarded when she felt those brilliant hands lift her a bit higher in his lap.

What did she say?

_xxx_

The coffee she was drinking was hot but not scalding hot, just like her husband liked.

Narcissa tried not to think where her husband was, but she had an idea—_she wasn't an idiot_—and while she didn't have to like it, she had to allow it.

Lucius could be gentle and even soft with her, but he was a sadist and he enjoyed pain, and Narcissa wasn't a masochist so she had to let her husband do what he wanted to do with other women.

He had always been careful, and she never knew the exact moments when he was unfaithful, and his _outlets _had never opened their mouths and blabbered. She didn't know what Lucius did to them to keep quiet—_she didn't want to know_—but she was grateful for it.

She had fallen in love with him in Hogwarts and not for his gorgeous looks or his name. She was extremely lucky with her parent's choice. It was a marriage between a Black and a Malfoy, but also of wife and man. She fell for Lucius, knowing what he was, and while Narcissa did not approve his more darker nature, she loved him.

He made her happy, he did everything she wanted, and he had given her a son. He had given her everything she had dreamed of—_Blacks were pure-bloods, but nowhere near equivalent to the Malfoys when it came to money_—and together with how well he could satisfy all her needs, Narcissa couldn't really complain. The nightmarish year was over, and now she was the First Lady of magical Great Britain.

She was afraid, however, that Lucius might snap from all the pressure the Dark Lord was putting on him, and therefore, she closed her eyes to the fact that it had been a ninth night in a half a year that Lucius had not spent the night home. Before the Dark Lord returned, her husband had spent only _three _nights in _seventeen _years away.

Narcissa understood why her beloved husband started to frequent with nightly absence.

_His inner monster was waking up._

She didn't like the changes in her husband, and she knew whom was to blame.

The Dark Lord had a far bigger influence on Lucius now, and there was nothing she could do.

Knowing that tonight had been the Sand fest—_a horrible and perverted event_—Narcissa did not even doubt that Lucius had spent the whole night in the Sahara. And with the way the Dark Lord looked now, she was sure Lucius was not alone.

It would not surprise her as Lucius had met Lord Voldemort at such a Sand fest all those years ago. He knew Lord Voldemort whom his father served, but he did not know the man behind the persona.

They enjoyed the same things.

It was eight in the morning, and her husband was nowhere to be seen.

She needed to check the new updated catalogues from Dior and Cartier.

A new necklace was a minimum Lucius would gladly buy for her _understanding_ attitude.

As Narcissa was about to order a house-elf to bring the catalogue from the library, she saw Lucius Apparate into the lobby.

Judging by his not-so-stable stand and the hand over his eyes, Lucius was drunk and not from pleasure only.

_Wonderful_.

She was going to order a whole catalogue.

_xxx_

Draco was buying the new books—_he really liked Transfiguration_—when he saw black messy hair and round spectacles outside the bookstore. While Draco was allowed to leave Hogwarts from time to time, it wasn't often he went to Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley.

_And he saw Potter!_

Draco wanted to run out, but he had to walk slowly and with grace—_like a true Malfoy_—and as he finally entered the Knockturn Alley, he saw Potter disappear into one of the buildings.

Draco squinted his eyes as he looked around before entering after Potter. He hadn't seen the scar-face since May, and now he wanted to see the Gryffindor and laugh into his face.

As Draco slowly walked into a bar—_a bar!_—his searching grey eyes met green, clouded gaze with enlarged pupils.

Draco almost gasped, but he managed to control himself.

Potter was high.

Well, well, well …

_xxx_

The wards around her apartment had been raised by Marvolo as soon as he had Apparated here last night, and no one would be able to enter—_or to hear anything_. Therefore, Hermione did not need to worry about Ron showing up and seeing Voldemort—_Marvolo_—sitting in her bright red chair with her on his lap, the coffee and breakfast getting cold on the table as her moans once again filled the apartment.

She was even more sick than she had previously thought.

_xxx_

"Your assignment for the Mind Arts test is in the Pensieve. You should have no problems adding the layers now."

He was sitting in the red chair—_he liked it_—and now he was fully dressed, but somehow he knew he would not leave without one more round.

He had never spent so much time with one woman, but then again, he had never met anyone who could compare to his Mudblood.

If he had thought she had been eager with her studies, then "nymphomaniac" was the only word to describe her in bed. He had been gentle at first, and he had been rough later on, but he hadn't shown Hermione the darker aspects of pleasure.

Yet.

He couldn't be more pleased with the way his Mudblood was turning out.

He really should punish Hermione now, but he knew the reason why she had reacted the way she had. She was starting to learn the Mind Arts and her mind was open to any strong emotional influences. She would not have reacted like an insane jealous wife had he levelled the emotions for her—_she couldn't do it yet because her professor was an idiot_—but he didn't want to. Hermione was now studying the Dark Arts and the Mind Arts alongside with Transfiguration, Charms, and Arithmancy, and her mental stability had started to crack. A bit, but the process began. He was the only one who could stop it, but he didn't want to. He wanted to see it all.

He really needed to sleep now—_even Masters of Death needed rest after such a marathon_—and he was a man. Their first intercourse lasted over three hours, and while he did fall asleep for an hour—_for the first time in his life he slept near another person_—it wasn't enough, as he then had had to hold his Occlumency shields in a death grip for another three times.

She was insatiable, but he didn't complain.

Hermione was wearing only the red silky bathrobe, and he could clearly see her toned body.

After the stunt with the bell—_ingenious_—and the dagger—_he had lost_ _control and finally took his Mudblood_—Voldemort thought she could not surprise him more.

And he was mistaken.

He hadn't planned on taking her so early, but she managed to push his hand when no one else could.

She was like a Pandora's box, and he opened it.

"How could I thank you?"

He really enjoyed her newfound side.

Voldemort smiled when the bathrobe was now on the floor, and Hermione stood before him in all her naked glory.

What did he say?

_xxx_

Lucius was sitting behind his desk when Andrea knocked, and after he allowed her to enter, she brought him the new stack of documents.

He had not slept, and while he was sober now—_Narcissa made him drink the Sobering Potion before pushing him towards the shower and shoving a new catalogue into his hands_—he was still tired.

Yes, yes. He knew he had to make it up to her for his behaviour, but even the whole catalogue of jewellery could not make him regret the night. He would go the next time for the whole three days that the Sand fest lasted.

He had let go, and after seventeen years, he felt like a newborn.

He wanted to sleep, but he had so much work, that after showering and changing clothes—_he was a Malfoy and the Minister_—Lucius returned to the Ministry.

Sleepless nights as a Death Eater was something he was used to.

_One did not make money or rule a country without spending a lot of time up._

The only person who slept less than him was his Lord.

As his secretary left the room, Lucius leaned back into the chair, one hand holding a cup with hot coffee and the other one with the papers from the stack.

The quality of the paper was worse than the toilet paper in Hog's Head.

The Ministry had the best, the softest toilet paper—_he demanded best quality everywhere_. However, there was no signet on the toilet paper as one did not wipe their asses with his Ministry. Or Merlin forbid with a Dark Mark …

Lucius would have wiped his hands—_or put on his leather gloves_—had his hands been free.

Who dared to write to him on such a piece of trash?

Lucius's quick, smart eyes took in the contents of the letter, and the next second, an honest laughter filled the Minister's oval office.

_xxx_

Harry was drinking his fifth glass of sparkling water, and he had to admit it tasted good.

Malfoy was sitting opposite of him, with a hanging jaw and round eyes.

While Harry wasn't happy that Malfoy found out his secret, he wasn't very worried. Who cared if it became a known fact that he was a drug addict now? Everyone that cared for him was dead—_or in Voldemort's grasp_—and Harry just didn't give a fuck anymore.

He gave his life—_and not only once_—to help everyone, and what did he get in return?

_Fucktards._

There was no resistance when Voldemort took over, and now, everyone on the streets looked happier than before.

_Stupid sheep._

Dumbledore had been wrong.

And Voldemort had been right all along.

There was no good or evil; there was only power.

He would say he hated Dumbledore more than he hated Voldemort. At least Voldemort wasn't a hypocrite and a liar, and he did what he needed to do himself, unlike one lying, too-good-to-kill-myself-so-you'll-do-it old coot.

If only Dumbledore got down from his high horse and actually fought Voldemort himself, Harry was sure the world would look different.

However, what was done, was done, and Harry wasn't so sure anymore what was good and what was evil.

The borders were becoming more transparent with each passing day.

He had gotten a reality check when Harry had met Voldemort after the Duel and they talked. Just talked.

He talked to Voldemort, and he didn't regret it. The conversation opened his eyes and cleared his ears.

The point of no return had been when Voldemort told him that Albus Dumbledore had been a water elemental in addition to having the same power level as Voldemort and having a fully functioning Elder Wand.

And Dumbledore put all the shit on Harry's shoulders with veiled hints and double-meaning phrases as his only guidance.

It was like telling a five-year-old child to cook a soup for a five-star restaurant and then be all sorry and sad when the soup ended up on the floor and the child burned from the boiling water. It was the chef's job from the very beginning, and toddlers had nothing to do in kitchen with boiling pots around.

"Want one, Malfoy?" Harry asked, holding small pills in his palm.

The wizarding equivalent of Muggle Ecstasy was much better and had a longer-lasting effect.

He saw Draco bit his lip, and as Harry was about to take away his hand and swallow the pills himself—_he wasn't a fucking charity to share with everyone_—he saw Malfoy tentatively reach for it.

Well, well, well …

Lucius was going to flip out.

And Harry didn't give a fuck.

He knew he had snapped, and while at first it horrified him, now it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Normal was overrated anyway.

Fuck them all.

As Harry took the rest of the drugs, he thought he needed to order more.

He was a Potter, and he had money.

Harry didn't care about anything now but the drugs, as they allowed him not to think about what he was turning into. It was a devil's circle that he couldn't break anymore.

"Say, Malfoy. Want to play Quidditch?"

Harry saw Draco's eyes widen in surprise before he laughed.

"Bring it on, Potter."

_xxx_

Ron was sitting in the Three Broomsticks as he awaited for the owner of the team to show up—_he was already two hours late, and Ron did not even know his name_—and as he drank his cold water—_he couldn't afford to order anything else_—he saw a figure with pale-blond hair and holding a familiar, silver snake-headed cane stop before his table.

Ron would have opened his mouth to tell Malfoy Senior that the table was taken, when he understood everything.

_He wasn't a dimwit._

Malfoy was the owner of the team now, and Ron would have to ask Malfoy—_Lucius for Hermione_—for the job.

Why did the Fates hate him so much?

_xxx_

Lucius could barely contain his amusement as he took in the pathetic form of the Weasley.

As he saw the glass with water and the second-hand clothes—_even his house-elves had better clothing_—he barely stopped a laugh from escaping his lips.

His hard work to destroy the Weasleys was paying off, and with the help of Lord Voldemort—_did he mention that his Lord was a genius?_—he would finish that pathetic family even before the year would be over.

If anyone hired a Weasley, the Ministry would close the business—_it wasn't hard to find or fabricate tax evasion_—and now, no one wanted to play Russian Roulette with him in charge of the Ministry.

Lord Voldemort, Lucius, and the Lestranges were the only people who did not pay taxes. He didn't pay them because he did not have to—_his Lord's direct words_—and Lord Voldemort did not pay taxes because he was the Dark Lord.

And Dark Lords did not pay taxes.

This Weasley would have to pay the taxes though, and seeing that he fell into the fifth tax category—_pure-blood traitor who took an active part in the rebellion, just like the Longbottoms and the Lovegoods_—he would have to give away seventy-five percent of his income.

And with the new property taxes he had invented—_he was a bastard, but he enjoyed it_—the Weasleys would have to pay around five hundred Galleons at the end of the year if they wanted to keep their barn.

If they didn't, they could move to France, if they found the money. But then he'd press charges for tax evasion and put them all to Azkaban.

He could just put them there—_he was the Minister, and his word was the law_—but Lord Voldemort demanded to proceed differently.

He wasn't sure how it was possible to live such a life in such conditions. Filthy, pathetic Muggle lovers who did not know any Contraceptive Charms did not deserve to live normally in their world.

The prices were set specifically for the Weasleys—_a wand cost seven Galleons, and now they couldn't even afford one_—and for other participants of the rebellion. The society was on Lord Voldemort's side now.

And not one ex-enemy would leave the country before his Lord was finished with them.

And Lucius couldn't wait to see Arthur and his womb of a wife crash down and burn.

He hated the Weasleys.

The enemies didn't have to be destroyed with magic, when they could be destroyed financially and morally.

The destruction had not even started yet, but they all thought that that was it, that it couldn't get worse.

It could and it would.

His Lord was such a genius that Lucius felt dumb sometimes.

And if Lucius felt dumb, then he didn't know what other people felt in Lord Voldemort's presence.

He would surprise Arthur a bit later, when he—_or_ _Rabastan_—would boot his only daughter from Hogwarts just before the exams for yet undecided reason—_money, behaviour, or stupidity, or altogether_. That would be fun.

He would hit only then, when the damage caused would be the highest.

He did not want to spoil the surprise.

"You asked to talk to me, Weasley?"

Lucius asked after ordering the most expensive wine this trash hole had.

He could see the angry blush spread over the pale face, and Lucius knew that he'd enjoy this conversation.

It was good to be him.

_xxx_

Hermione turned off the light in her bedroom, as it was time to sleep. She had read a book, but it was late, and she wanted to have a good night rest. The pillow smelled like Marvolo, and Hermione closed her eyes with a stupid smile on her face.

She knew sex was something to enjoy, but what she had felt with Voldemort was incredible. He had left after helping with the Pensieve, and Hermione had to admit his way of building the landscape was much more logical and more efficient than the crap Chantel had blabbered.

He was the same Hood he had been before their intercourse, and while she blushed from time to time when he would smirk or lick his lips, she could get her mind out of the gutter when needed.

While Hermione was really ashamed for her behaviour—_and was extremely thankful that Voldemort closed his eyes this one time on her irrational behavior_—and Voldemort wasn't her boyfriend or anything like that, she wanted his attention. And she was grateful he didn't stab her back, as he could have done instead of simply removing the dagger from his shoulder.

She dared to hurt Lord Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. Hermione understood that the only reason he had not killed her with the same dagger was because she hadn't aimed to kill—it would have been fruitless anyway—and stabbed him to cause pain only. And it looked like it really impressed him.

He was so brilliant, so charming, and he was like this with only her. Hermione felt special even though she understood that Voldemort definitely had something planned for her, and while she could only guess, she couldn't change anything.

Hermione would see him almost daily, and she would rely on his knowledge and support, no matter what he wanted from her, because she had no one else to turn to. He was her guardian, and she could not escape him.

She had chosen "sex only" not because she didn't want Voldemort, but because her conscious wouldn't allow to choose the other option. If she became an item with Lord Voldemort, she would have to accept all his sides, and his dark side horrified her.

She was a good person, she was Light, and she couldn't imagine herself standing near Voldemort when he would burn people or torture his own followers. Hermione could not stop her own body, but she could control her mind.

Even if she wanted to be with him, she wouldn't. She couldn't.

He was just too evil, and Hermione could not imagine spending her life with someone like that.

Now, when they had had sex, she knew that he would start dragging her deeper and deeper into the webs he was building—_she wasn't blind, nor was she stupid_—but Hermione wasn't so sure anymore she would mind.

She just hoped he had nothing bad planned for her.

_xxx_

If Lucius continued performing like he did …

It was a blessing to have one person who could juggle finances and politics in both countries while also being a pure-blood dark wizard that had many good qualities. He was the epitome of what Voldemort saw as a perfect Death Eater. While Lucius was slippery and he wasn't the bravest of his Death Eaters, he was perfect for the new world Voldemort was building.

Lucius tried to fight his darkness for seventeen years, and now, he unleashed it, and there was no way out for Lucius. Not anymore.

He would have to get rid of Narcissa and Malfoy junior if they tried to interfere, but Lucius would be his.

He was not going to do all the insane paperwork by himself, and judging by the state of disturbance in Italy, it looked like he would get even more work.

While Rabastan was also very good, he wasn't a financial guru, and if Lord Voldemort hated any branch of magic, it were the finances and the diplomatic idiocy, alongside with the paperwork and bureaucracy.

It wasn't his fault that there were so little competent wizards and witches around, and they were all mortal.

He was the Master of Death, and all of him was immortal.

At first, he wasn't sure, but he tested on Nagini, and now he knew for sure.

Voldemort smiled as he thought about Hermione's reaction if she found out that she couldn't die unless he would kill her himself or removed the Horcrux.

As he was immortal, then his Horcruxes were also immortal, and that was why he had decided to remove the Horcrux from Nagini and put it into Lucius.

He didn't care about his soul and it was sort of remote control, and while he could make more Horcruxes—_he would_—he didn't see the need to do it soon when he already had two parts of his soul walking—_and slithering_—around.

Nagini was his familiar, but Lucius was way more productive—_Voldemort did not need to interfere, not even once, with any financial or political decision Lucius had made_—so Nagini would have to be separated from the Horcrux and die.

It was a pity, but it wasn't a tragedy.

And Hermione …

She was so interesting that she had his full attention now.

She had the head role in his little spectacle, and he hoped she would perform exactly as he had planned.

If she didn't, then his plans for Lucius would crash and he couldn't allow it.

He needed someone smart enough to stay in control of his empire, and he wasn't going to teach a new wizard every ten years.

He wanted to have the freedom to do anything he wished while not having to worry about details.

And that meant that Lucius's financial and political brilliance would be his biggest achievement and biggest curse at the same time.

The Horcrux in Hermione showed him how well the remote control worked, so why not control Lucius fully and—_if he so wished_—forever.

The Horcrux could be put to a much better use than just sleeping in Nagini.

Lucius was going to be the Minister of Magic for as long as Lucius lived. And with the immortal Horcrux inside, Lucius Malfoy would live for as long as Lord Voldemort wished.

Eternal Minister.

And he would not have to worry about anything—no inside politics, no financials, and no need for direct management. He could spend his time reading, researching, or torturing someone. There was a reason he didn't get into politics after Hogwarts, like everyone had expected.

Those themes combined pissed him off too much that had he taken the post of the Minister for himself, he would kill everyone even before the first meeting was over.

He could not tolerate idiots, and there were too many around.

He could see all their thoughts, no secrets hidden from his view.

While he could take the post of the Minister for himself, he didn't want that. He'd have one person to deal with it all.

And he would have the time for someone else.

Hermione would show him the brightest—_the strongest_—positive colors of the emotional spectrum before he would drag her down. He would catch her before she would hit the bottom, and he would allow her to fly up in the skies before pulling the leash down. And then up.

Down and up. Up and down.

Before she was ready.

And then, he could do what he had planned.

Lord Voldemort smiled as he watched Potter buy the new dose of the drugs from the dealer who worked for Lucius. Who did not work for Lucius?

His Harry had snapped—_he made sure_—and now, Potter was like a stone, rolling down the hill.

And he, Lord Voldemort, was controlling the angle of the rolling stones.

It could be vertical.

If Harry didn't go totally crazy or die from the overdose, he'd come to him soon.

Potter had a sweet tooth now, and Voldemort had all the cookies.

He did not forget about anyone on the Light side.

He would destroy them all, one by one, while also keeping his promise to Hermione to not target them physically or magically.

Hermione had not thought about finances and things like public image when she made the oath.

_A Gryffindor._

He would not target them magically, but he would destroy them mentally and sit back to watch the show.

_Like a Slytherin_.

No one crossed him and got away with it.

Hermione included.

_xxx_

**March**

Hermione stretched, and with still closed eyes, she let her hand wander to her right, where a warm body had been only a few hours ago.

As her hand touched the empty space, Hermione opened her eyes, and with a disappointed sigh, she got out of her bed.

Marvolo had left early, just like he had said, but she still hoped to feel him near when she woke up.

She was an idiot, and she knew it.

As she sat in the bright red chair, Hermione looked over her notes for today's practical test in the Mind Arts, not wanting to miss anything as the bitch—_Chantel_—would try her damnedest to lower Hermione's mark. And Hermione had no intentions to get anything else but Outstanding.

It had been Voldemort who had taught her the basic Mind Arts, as it just wasn't working with the Mind Arts professor, and while she did not trust Lord Voldemort, she trusted the Hood.

Carefully picking the Pensieve—_it was hers now_—Hermione checked the created layers.

It was perfect.

_xxx_

"**Chudley Cannons take over the leadership in the World Cup series!"**

Lucius looked at the headline as he drank his third cup of coffee, and a pleased smile appeared on his face.

One month and the team was bringing in money instead of losing it.

The merchandise and ticket sales skyrocketed when he took over—_Ministry's officially supported team_—and the amount of new fans was astonishing.

He kicked all the idiots from the team and bought all the best ones from other teams—_who could say "no" to him?_—and now, the team was on the way to become the World Champion.

If only he could get his Lord to somehow show support for the team …

Lucius might not be the most powerful with magic, but there was no one who could overpower him on the business market.

He felt his Mark burn, and while Lucius did not break in cold sweat anymore when he had to meet the Dark Lord, he still wasn't sure if he would leave unscattered.

When Lucius Apparated to his Lord, his heart stopped.

On the floor, kneeling before the Dark Lord was a pale-faced Draco.

What had his son done?

_xxx_

"Did you understand everything, Draco?"

Lucius could breathe now, but he wouldn't be able to relax before his son left the presence of the Dark Lord.

"I did, my Lord."

Draco's voice was raspy, and Lucius knew just how nervous his son was now.

The task that Draco had been given was logical and expected, but Lucius did not expect his Lord to choose Draco for this task.

If he failed …

There would be nothing that Lucius could do.

While Lucius promised himself to keep a close eye on his son, he had no time for anything.

He had the British Ministry to run, he had the French Ministry to control through the idiot that was parading as the French Minister of Magic, he had all the finances of both countries on his shoulders, he had to control all the Law Enforcements—_it was Dolohov's job, but he was an idiot and did not know what "management meant"_—and now he had to find the time to supervise his only son's mission.

And with the coming takeover of Italy, it looked like Lucius would need to buy all the Pepper-Up Potions around the world.

He knew that Rabastan was also running like a squirrel in a wheel, trying to balance Hogwarts and the tasks his Lord had given him, he knew that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were busy teaching the new wave of Aurors—_he could imagine what they taught them_—and the rest of the Inner Circle had their own tasks, but the amount of work Lucius got was sometimes too much even for him.

And now he had to worry about his son as well.

Shit.

"Lucius."

Thank Merlin the attention was on him now and not on his son—_he would take any curse for Draco_—and Lucius swallowed hard before lifting his gaze to look into pale eyes.

"Yes, my Lord."

Where did he fail?

"How's Weasley?"

Lucius couldn't hold back a smile when he thought about the youngest son of Arthur Weasley.

"He's put to good use, My Lord. He cleans the changing rooms and takes care of the training pit when he isn't busy scrubbing the bathrooms."

Lucius saw a small smile on his Lord's young face, and he knew that he had done everything right.

"Are you finished with the Quidditch team?"

He would have gaped had he not been a Malfoy.

The Cannons? Since when did his Lord care about who played on the team?

"Yes, my Lord. I have the best players on their positions already."

Lucius saw his Lord nod slowly before he got up and walked towards his desk.

"I want the Seeker's position to be free."

But he had just bought Viktor Krum!

Who could be better than Krum?

"As you wish, my Lord. May I ask who should take his place?"

If his Lord wanted Hagrid to play, then Lucius would have no choice but to take Hagrid and still make the team win. Even if his Lord wanted to put Nagini on the broom, Lucius would have to accept it.

"You'll take Potter."

"Potter?!"

Lucius heard Draco exclaim, and he closed his eyes.

_Shut up!_

"_Crucio!"_

If Draco did not suffer any lasting damage, Lucius was going to Cruciate him himself when they got home.

How did he raise such an idiot?

Who opened their mouths and questioned their Lord?

The curse was lifted quickly, and Lucius had never been so grateful. He couldn't listen to his son scream like that. It was one thing when Lucius punished him, but when it was the Dark Lord …

He was a sadist but not in regards to his family.

"Young Malfoy, the only reason I will allow you to leave this room on your own is because of your father's hard work."

Had Lucius been gay, he would have kissed his Lord.

"I cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Master."

He saw his Lord shake his head at his son, and just when Lucius thought that the worst was behind, a rolled parchment appeared before his Lord.

The seal on the roll was from Illuminus—_he spent four years studying there, so he could recognize the seal even from where he was standing_, _and, not lying, thank Merlin_—and Lucius wondered as to what the Mudblood—_Hermione_—had done.

It looked like he wasn't the only one who did not understand what was going on, as he saw his Lord frown before touching the roll with his wand and reading the contents.

Lucius almost dropped to the floor when a searing pain burned in his Mark, and Lucius understood that this was the first time in long months when his Lord was truly enraged.

The Dark Lord was simply furious, and Lucius felt a bit sorry for the Mudblood.

Thank Merlin Draco—_and him_—had been called before the roll appeared, and not after …

"Dismissed, both of you. Out!"

Lucius bowed quickly before grabbing his still-shivering son, and Apparated away.

_Thank you, Hermione!_

_xxx_

Hermione was sitting in the spacious room, waiting with other students to hear her results.

Professor Chantel had a thing for dramatics, and she would tell the results in front of other students, together with the results from the Dark Arts professor .

Hermione couldn't wait to hear the bitch say "Outstanding" with a pained grimace on her stupid face.

While Professor could not stand Hermione from the very beginning, Hermione had started to feel the same only recently.

She hated the bitch.

"How do you think you did?"

Hermione turned a bit to face the girl who'd asked her.

Daphne Greengrass was the only person she knew here, and while Daphne did not take all of the Mind Arts classes, she was still present to witness the warm relationship between her and Chantel.

While at Hogwarts, Hermione had never spoken to Daphne; however, she did talk to her from time to time at Illuminus. The Greengrass family was related to the Malfoys and the Blacks, and they were now Dark fanatics to the core, but Daphne had been very polite with Hermione and Hermione did not mind their interactions.

Daphne wasn't that bad, and she was studying to become a Mediwitch, so they had shared interests.

And Daphne was the only one here who knew her guardian's identity.

"Seeing that the base had been created by … You-Know-Who—" Hermione smirked at the name and she saw Daphne smile in understanding. "—and that the directions were marked, I think I did well."

She doubted Voldemort would make a mistake with something so simple as a base level and directions.

"I still cannot imagine what it would be like to have Him as the guardian," Daphne whispered with a curious glint in her green eyes.

Hermione wanted to say it wasn't that bad, when she saw Chantel enter the room with Professor Caelius, and Hermione smiled.

She couldn't wait for her result.

_xxx_

"Greengrass."

Hermione knew that her name was before Daphne's, but Chantel decided to make her wait some more, and she smiled in encouragement at Daphne .

"Exceeds Expectations."

Hermione saw Daphne smile a bit.

Apparently, only Voldemort demanded Outstandings.

_And her._

"The notification letter with full analysis had been already sent to your guardian."

Even when talking to a pure-blood, Professor's voice sounded nasty and almighty.

"Thank you, Professor Chantel,"Daphne thanked before sitting back and releasing a relieved breath.

"Mother will be happy."

It was Daphne's mother who demanded better results that her father.

Hermione had only one person and this person demanded perfection in everything.

As she saw Chantel smile nastily at her, Hermione's breath hitched.

She could not get Exceeds Expectations! Voldemort would kill her!

"Granger."

Hermione saw Professor Caelius's distant gaze sharpen as her name was called, and as the old Professor smiled a bit, Hermione smiled back.

She had already gotten her Outstanding for the Dark Arts test, and now both Professor Caelius and Hermione were expecting to hear one more Outstanding.

Lord Voldemort was the most powerful Legilimens and Occlumens in the world, and since the old professor knew who had helped with the test—_but apparently did not share that bit with his colleague_—he wasn't expecting anything else than a perfect score.

"Troll."

What did she say?

Did she hear right?

Hermione heard a sharp intake of air from Daphne and she saw huge, disbelieving eyes of the normally airy professor Caelius, before looking at the smirking face of the Mind Arts Professor.

"I have already sent out the analysis and my personal recommendations to your guardian. No wonder you cannot build anything properly, seeing that the person responsible for you has no clue what he or she is doing. The base is built not like I taught you and I have no idea who told you—or your guardian—that there was another way of building Occlumency bases. You share your mark with your guardian. Troll for the base and Troll for the added layers, as the base is all wrong."

Hermione would have mimicked Professor Caelius, who now had a hand over his mouth, and his eyes looked horrified, but she couldn't even move.

She got a Troll.

_Voldemort_ got a Troll.

Chantel went on, not paying attention to the green face of Daphne or the quiet Professor Caelius, enjoying the moment of Hermione's humiliation.

"I have advised your guardian to attend some of my lectures and to read a few useful books before he or she starts applying their insufficient knowledge to your already unstable work. I have also expressed my concerns about your future education at Illuminus. It would do you and your guardian well to spend the money on his or her education first."

Hermione could barely hold back a laugh that wanted to escape her lips as she saw Professor Caelius gape at the bitch.

Judging by the hot pain she felt in her mind, Voldemort had already gotten the letter.

And he wasn't amused.

"Sit, Granger. I will discuss your future education later."

_No problem_, Hermione thought while sitting down.

If the bitch lived that long, she'd listen to her genius thoughts.

The door of the auditorium opened, and a white-faced Headmaster Darmus hobbled in on unsteady legs.

Hermione didn't even have to guess as to why the Headmaster wasn't feeling well.

Crucio and health did not mix well together.

The door closed behind a second person, and Hermione smiled.

He looked so good in silver and blue colors.

_xxx_

When he had gotten the letter, he had almost killed Malfoy Junior.

He, Lord Voldemort, got a Troll for a Mind Arts test for the beginners and the rest of the comments …

To say he was pissed was the same as to say he disliked Albus Dumbledore.

He had allowed this circus with the Mind Arts to last so long as he did not want to spoon-feed Hermione everything, but now, the idiot for a Professor crossed the line.

It was time to visit the University and deal with all the problems in one go.

Enough was enough.

_xxx_

Hermione saw Professor Caelius get up and Chantel turned around to see who had disturbed the lecture; she felt Daphne grip her hand.

"Is that Him?"

While Voldemort did not hide his looks from the public and most magazines had his picture, it was one thing to read about him and completely different to see him in reality.

One did not expect the Dark Lord of Britain and France—_and Italy soon as people everywhere were stupid sheep_—to come in just like that.

Only Professor Caelius recognized him. And the Headmaster, who was still twitching in aftershocks.

"Yes," Hermione whispered to Daphne quietly.

Today, he chose the silvery and blue colors, and Hermione could do nothing when her mind provided her with an image she had seen last night, when no clothes were on.

She should be thinking about what was going to happen now, and not about sex, but when she saw Voldemort—_Marvolo_—she could do nothing as her body craved his attention.

Just like last night.

"Professor Chantel."

Voldemort's voice was smooth and silky as he looked over the form of her Mind Arts professor, and Hermione understood that he was even more pissed than she had initially evaluated.

"Yes, I am Professor Chantel. What can I do for you?"

The bitch was now smiling, her hungry eyes taking in the silk silvery suit with the blue tie, and Hermione did not need to know Legilimency to know what the bitch was thinking about. Voldemort did look like a pure-blood and not only because of his sharp features or expensive wizarding clothing.

_Dream on._

The Headmaster was now standing near Professor Caelius, and the students whispered to one another, trying to understand who it was and what was going on.

Voldemort held a scroll in his hand—_with the Troll_—as he slowly walked over to the still-smiling bitch before giving it to her manicured hands.

"Do you know who I am?"

Hermione could not hold back a smile at his antics. He was such a drama queen!

The pale eyes found hers, and Hermione mentally apologized—_they weren't alone_—before the piercing gaze landed on the redhead professor.

There were not many people in the room, but everyone watched with curiosity.

"I am afraid not. I would remember meeting someone like you."

Definitely.

She won't forget him.

Hermione could not understand when she had become so sarcastic or spiteful, but she really hated the bitch. She was worse than Umbridge, and that said a lot about Chantel.

Hermione saw Voldemort smirk—_he was probably reading the thoughts of the Mind Arts professor_—and as he tilted his head to the right, Hermione bit her lip.

"Open the scroll."

Hermione saw Professor Caelius smile—_his idol was here and he'd get to see the show_—and Hermione got up a bit from her chair to get a better view.

She wanted to see the painted face when the bitch realised whom she had given a Troll and had advised to get an education first.

Chantel winced a bit as she saw the contents of her own letter.

"You're Granger's guardian."

Hermione saw the other students look at her.

_Yes, yes. Watch on._

"I am."

Voldemort was smiling slightly, and Hermione recognized the smile. It had a promise of pain written in bold letters on it.

Hermione covered her mouth with a hand so that she wouldn't laugh out loud as Chantel opened her big mouth and asked the only question that could make the situation even worse for her.

"Are you Mister Granger?"

The bark of laugh from Professor Caelius was heard in the whole auditorium, and Hermione saw Chantel turn to the old professor.

Before any question left her red lips, Voldemort finally delivered the blow.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

_Surprise!_

Hermione smiled as Chantel paled, and her hands started to shiver.

She wasn't that stupid when she didn't want to be. She understood everything.

Hermione held her head high as the shocked faces of the students turned to look at her.

It was good to be her.

_xxx_

"Everyone out."

He was not going to look into the stupid faces of imbecilic students as they gaped at him.

Voldemort saw Caelius almost cry as he started to move with rest of the fleeting body, and an idea came to him mind.

Since he came here anyway, he'd use it to the maximum.

"Caelius, you may stay."

He didn't know old people could move so quickly, Voldemort thought as Caelius ran back to his place.

The red-haired idiot—_what did he say about red hair?_—licked her bright-red lips—_what a vulgar tone_—before getting on her knees.

Even if she started to lick the floor, it would not save her.

He killed for even addressing him incorrectly, and that dimwit had managed to insult him twice.

It was time to push Hermione a bit.

_xxx_

Only her, Professor Caelius, Chantel, the Headmaster, and Voldemort were now in the auditorium, and Hermione watched as the bitch was now on her knees before Marvolo's tall figure.

"Hermione, come here."

It was an order, and Hermione quickly left her place and stood now near the Dark Lord.

He might be wearing light colors today, but he was anything but light.

"You understand your mistake now, don't you, professor?"

The way he had said "professor" sounded like "you piece of shit", but Voldemort was polite even when killing or torturing others.

Hermione watched with pleasure as the pale-faced Chantel looked at her with horror in her now-clear eyes.

_Yes, yes. Look at me_, Hermione thought, trying not to smile.

"My Lord, I beg you, forgive me. I did not know."

Hermione wondered how he'd punish the idiot. Would he just Cruciate her or kill her?

She hoped for the Crucio, but with the Dark Lord, you never knew for sure.

"Not only did you not teach my ward properly, you dared to write me this."

Voldemort had the scroll in his hand now, and as he smacked Chantel with the scroll on the face, Hermione tried not to smile.

She had dreamed about doing it herself.

"You have no clue what you're teaching, and the only reason you're still allowed to hold this position is because you provide your other services for the Headmaster."

Hermione quickly looked at the green face of Headmaster Darmus and then at the euphoric face of her Dark Arts Professor, who seemed to enjoy the show so much that Hermione started to worry for his old heart.

Well, well, well …

Now it was clear as to why the bitch was allowed to continue with her nasty attitude.

"I can see your pathetic mind even without using full-force Legilimency, and you dared to tell me that I was an uneducated, talentless amateur?"

_Oi, oi._ He was really pissed.

She'd have a new Mind Arts Professor soon.

"Ple-please forgive me, my Lord. Please!"

Wailing did not help when dealing with Lord Voldemort. It only pissed him off more.

"_Crucio!"_

What did she say?

Hermione looked at the ecstatic Dark Arts Professor and then at the pale-blue eyes that were watching her closely.

Voldemort lifted the curse as he turned to Professor Caelius.

"When do you start with the Unforgivables, Caelius?"

Wait a minute …

"In one month, my Lord."

Did absolutely everyone call him "My Lord"? Was she really the only one who did not?

"You are." Voldemort was smiling slightly, and Hermione blushed a bit.

What did he mean with the question? Did he want her to cast the curse?

As Hermione saw Marvolo's smile broaden, her heart skipped a beat but not because of arousal.

He wanted her to cast the Cruciatus, and Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"You know the incantation, Hermione. Allow your anger to leave you, allow your hate to direct your magic, and you'll see the result. Cast it."

No, no, no.

She wasn't ready—_she would never be ready_—to torture a person, with the Cruciatus especially.

"_**I said cast it!"**_

Hermione wished to see Professor Caelius's or the Headmaster's faces, or Chantel's mad eyes, but she was looking directly into the pale-blue eyes, and she could not tear her gaze away.

"_**It will not work."**_

She wasn't a sadist, and the Cruciatus would fail. Better not to cast it at all.

"_**Don't test my patience, Hermione."**_

The lips that had pleasured her last night were not smirking anymore, and Hermione understood that this was it.

She had to cast the Cruciatus or she'd pay dearly.

Her wand trembled a bit as she raised it, and when she felt Marvolo stand directly behind her, Hermione had cast the curse. She could not watch Chantel's pleading eyes.

"_Crucio!"_

The power of the spell was not anywhere near Voldemort's—_it was so weak that it was barely there_—but as Chantel's screams filled the air, Hermione shivered.

Suddenly, she felt pleasure move up her arm as she still held the curse, and as she heard soft whispering into her ear, guiding her, the screams raised in volume. Voldemort was helping her, and he was standing so close that she felt his warmth, and the power of the curse increased.

The figure of the nasty Professor who did everything to humiliate Hermione was now thrashing on the floor, and Hermione did not have a mirror or else she'd see her reflection smile.

Hermione did not see Professor Caelius and Headmaster quietly and quickly leave the room at Voldemort's nod as she was busy with the curse, but as she felt familiar, elegant hands lift her dress and those genius lips on her neck, she moaned in pleasure.

Her mind was empty, and Hermione closed her eyes as she felt Marvolo enter her from behind, slowly taking her, all the while with her hand holding the wand. Voldemort's one hand was closed around her arm, and Hermione was in heaven.

Her moans were the only sound in the room as Chantel stopped screaming, but Hermione did not notice it as she was busy with more important things.

Only when Voldemort released her after they both came did Hermione remember where she was and what she was doing.

Oh my god!

Hermione's gasp of horror was followed by quiet laughing from behind her, and as she looked at the opened, unseeing eyes of Professor Chantel, Hermione dropped her wand.

"What can I say, Hermione. Outstanding."

She had tortured her Mind Arts professor to a brain-dead state with the Cruciatus while fucking with Lord Voldemort in the auditorium of Illuminus University of Magic.

What kind of monster was she?

"My favourite." Voldemort's laughing blue eyes were watching her with interest, and Hermione could not breathe from the horror.

What had she done?

"Don't mind her. It happens so often. One less, one more. I'll get you a new professor, a better one." Voldemort had his head tilted to the right, and his pale eyes were shining with mirth.

This was a person, not a bag, or pair of shoes! It wasn't even a chicken—it was a human! And she roasted its brains.

"Are you hungry? I know this wonderful place in Venice where they have the best pasta and the freshest vegetables in the whole world. And the view is simply mind-blowing."

Voldemort was standing near her, smiling at her shocked face, all the while joking using double-meaning phrases.

"How can I think about food when I just killed a person?!"

Hermione gaped at her lover as he clicked his tongue and widened his eyes in mock surprise.

"And? If everyone thought like that, then I would not have even one Death Eater. They would all starve."

Hermione could not believe it was happening. Could he shut up?

"Would you stop it?!"

Hermione cried in anger as Voldemort continued having his fun.

"Sometimes it just happens, Hermione. You cannot count all the sheep."

Marvolo's hand was combing through her hair and Hermione wanted to lean into—_or away from_—the tender touch. She had killed a person! It was accidental, but she was a murderer now, and Voldemort was joking here. He _was _a psychopath, but she wasn't!

"Come now, Hermione. Big deal, she was a waste of air anyway. And it's not like you liked her. But you'll like the pasta and the vegetables. I insist."

He was joking, but he was serious. She had to come with him, even if she wanted to drown herself in one of the water channels.

"Darmus!"

Voldemort's voice was cold as he had called for the Headmaster who was most probably behind the door, and with absolute horror, Hermione understood that no wards had been raised when she was torturing the poor woman.

And no wards had been raised when they fucked.

The Headmaster, who was outside the door, had heard her moans of pleasure, and Hermione wanted to die from shame and horror.

"_**Do you have any other professors that you dislike, my sweet?"**_

Voldemort was showing all his white teeth in a broad smile, and Hermione wished to break his jaw.

"_**Go to hell."**_

Maybe if he tortured her as well, she'd feel better.

"_**Hermione, Hermione. I am so lenient with you …"**_

Voldemort waved his hand, and Hermione could only watch as Chantel's body disappeared. She wanted to wake up and not remember this horror. Would she ever forget it?

"_**Of course you will, but first, we'll eat. You performed so well that I'll allow you to choose the dessert for today. Fried bananas?"**_

How she hated him.

But there was nothing she could do.

Headmaster Darmus came in and bowed before Voldemort.

As she watched Voldemort and the Headmaster interact before Darmus left, Hermione finally accepted the fact that she wasn't that much better.

They were all monsters, and the world had become their playground.

The pale-blue eyes were gentle as Voldemort took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"I'll let you play with my toys."

This joking, smiling, handsome man was the biggest monster of them all.

And she could not escape him any longer.

The biggest problem was that Hermione wasn't so sure anymore that she wanted to escape.

She did not know what she wanted.

xxx

Voldemort smiled as the fresh pasta dish was served, and Hermione leaned away from the assortment of fresh vegetables with her talented lips pursed and smart eyes squinted.

His curious, naive little Horcrux …

His.

xxx

_a/n That was fun! If you have any questions, let me know :)_

_Here ends the 2nd part, and I can move to the 3rd. It will be called "Horcrux Mine". Waves!_


	21. Friends

_Hi!_

_Wow!_

_Thank you so so much for the mind-blowing reviews! I was smiling like an idiot the whole time. And I finished a chapter even before I realised it (talk about obsessed people…)_

_I couldn't find a proper word that one 'character' would use, and it was Serpent In Red who offered the one I ended up choosing. _

_This chapter is a small gift for my wonderful friend who beta-ed my crap while being sick. I cannot thank you enough, Serp!_

_There is a part cut out, so you may proceed to AFF if you want to read it :)_

_The story is over 100.000 words now….OMFG! I have never written anything so big and I'm not done yet…_

_I'd ask you to be lenient with Hermione, as she has not so happy times ahead of her. You wanted to see Ginny and Draco? Here they are :) I cannot promise I'll update as fast as I did now. _

_You make me happy with reviews, I make you happy with a mega quick update. Cool, right?_

_Beta: Serpent in Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

**Horcrux Mine**

_xxx_

Chapter Twenty One

**April**

"_**Massster, massster!"**_

If snakes could scream, then Nagini would sound like a banshee now.

What did the Mudblood do?

Hermione was told to stay in his study and read a book while he dealt with Bellatrix downstairs in the Fire Hall—_he could have called the ballroom a Throne Room, but he wanted to be creative_—and now the loud hissing was heard from near the opened doors.

Lord Voldemort straightened in his throne-like chair, and when his eyes landed on Nagini, an involuntary laugh escaped him as he saw his familiar.

Now that was a piece of art.

_xxx_

Bellatrix was almost done with her report in regards to the Auror training that she and her husband had been supervising when she heard loud hissing from the door.

The next second, her ears were filled with laughter coming from her Lord, and Bellatrix had never heard anything so wonderful in her whole life.

His laughter was genuine, and she heard it for the first time.

As Bella turned towards the hissing snake, her eyes widened and her jaw almost hit the floor.

Nagini's long body now had a red ballet tutu around its thick muscles, a bell on a red chain hung from where a neck would be, the head was adored by two shimmering red horns, and the tail now had peacock feathers.

The worst part were the tiny feet—like a centipede—with tiny red shoes that were located on the whole length of Nagini's stomach, making it impossible for Nagini to slither on the floor. Those tiny feet ran quickly, and before Bellatrix could close her hanging jaw, Nagini fell flat onto its face.

The hissing from the fallen snake that could not get up was getting louder and louder, and Bellatrix wished—_not for the first time_—to understand the royal language of snakes.

"You're dismissed, Bella."

Her Master's voice still had a laughing note to it, and his eyes were shining.

If Bella tried doing something like that to her Lord's familiar, her body would have been fed to Nagini after hours of torture.

But the Mudblood would not only get away with it, she also made her Lord laugh.

The Dark Lord was hers, and if the nasty Mudblood thought she found herself a nice warm spot under her Master's wing, she was severely mistaken.

As Bellatrix watched the Dark Lord pick up Nagini and go upstairs—_to the Mudblood_—she promised to make the bitch pay.

_xxx_

Hermione had been reading a book that Professor Pare—_Viscal, as he asked to be called_—had assigned while drinking tea and eating biscuits, sitting in the comfortable chair in Lord Voldemort's library.

Her new Mind Arts professor was the weirdest person she had ever met, but he was brilliant.

Viscal Pare took the post of the Mind Arts professor after the accident—_Hermione still could not believe what she had done_—and while Hermione hoped he would stay for long—_he was so good with teaching!_—she knew better.

Viscal agreed to teach the Mind Arts only until the Headmaster—_Voldemort, to be correct_—found a new professor—_one the Dark Lord would approve of, and there weren't that many that fit in the category_—and it was only because of his _friendship_ with the Dark Lord that he had left Africa and came to Illuminus University of Magic to be a substitute teacher.

His teaching method was similar to Voldemort's—he was very knowledgeable and calm—and Hermione took an instant liking to the older wizard. He was dark-skinned with white hair that stood in spikes and golden brown eyes that were smart and curious; and while he was somewhere in his sixties, he looked strange for his years. He looked older, but his attitude was very carefree.

The small bones in his ears—_earrings_—and the clothing he wore only added to the weirdness of the professor, who never wore shoes and had a loose thin overall on that remained the same from day to day.

The laughing students who saw the professor for the first time quieted down when the whole room was engulfed in flames and a dead goose that kept a close eye on everyone appeared on the professor's desk.

He was a fire elemental and a Necromant; and one did not laugh in his face or behind his back without feeling the consequences.

The students that had been present when her guardian came for a visit now greeted her in the halls, and Hermione could only shake her head in disappointment.

Bootlickers.

No one talked to her—_aside from Daphne, but even Daphne talked to her only because of where Hermione stood now_—before Voldemort came, and now, when they knew whose charge she was, they all wanted to communicate.

The Headmaster had called her twice in the last month to ask if everything was to her liking, and Hermione did not know how she was supposed to react. While it was nice to be appreciated, she didn't want the respect only if it was because of her mentor. She wanted them all to respect her for what she was.

Hermione turned the page, and not lifting her gaze from the book, she reached for her cup of tea that was near the chair on the glass table.

When her hand closed around the cup, Hermione turned her gaze to see why it was suddenly cold when it was supposed to remain warm.

"Gaaaaaah!"

Hermione's shriek echoed in the large library as she saw what her hand was holding.

It wasn't a cup; it was Nagini.

As Hermione let go of the serpent and jumped from the chair onto the sofa, she heard the snake hiss.

"_**Sssss, you donkey. Watch out."**_

While Hermione had met Nagini four times in the last month, she still could not get used to the nasty serpent that liked to scare her whenever it got a chance.

Nagini behaved only when it's Master was nearby, and seeing that Voldemort had to step out, Nagini decided to use the situation and paid a visit to Hermione.

Hermione did not know if she would like Nagini more had she not been able to understand what the nasty snake was saying.

"_**Nagini wants the donkey to scratch Nagini's head. Ssssss." **_The huge serpent was swinging slowly to the sides, and its forked tongue was peeking out.

"_**I am not a donkey! Stop calling me that!"**_

Hermione got down from the sofa—_it was idiotic_—as Nagini was larger than any normal snake and could easily get to her even if Hermione climbed onto the ceiling.

"_**Donkey, donkey, donkey. Sssss."**_

Hermione rolled her eyes as she sat back into the chair. Nagini wasn't allowed to hurt her, and Hermione was not allowed to hurt Nagini.

It was an impasse for both of them. Nagini would have loved to eat her alive, and Hermione would gladly chop the serpent into a soup—_snakes were tasty_—but their shared _friend_ prohibited any action that would endanger any of them.

"_**If you say donkey again, I'll make you pay, shoelace."**_ Hermione moved the snake with her foot as it tried to slither up her legs.

"_**Sssss … Nagini is not a shoelace, Nagini is a queen serpent. Ssssss. Stupid donkey cannot hurt Nagini. Ssss." **_

Hermione knew that not all snakes were so bad, but it had to be her luck that the nastiest of them all had to be Marvolo's pet that also had a part of his soul inside her.

"_**Why are you so nasty? Can't you just shut up and go hunt mice? Or eat a Death Eater?"**_

If Nagini ate Bellatrix, Hermione would even scratch its belly.

"_**Ssss … Nagini is not hungry, but I could eat you, donkey. Ssss."**_

The huge snake was now slithering on the floor, showing its huge body and poisonous fangs that had killed Professor Snape.

"_**My name is Hermione, you overgrown worm!"**_

Nagini couldn't hurt her, so Hermione sneered at the snake before opening her book.

"_**Hermit donkey. Ssss."**_ The snake's face was now near the book as Nagini slithered up the chair and was now _reading_ from Hermione's left.

"_**Go away and let me read before I lose it, snake." **_Hermione tried to concentrate on the book and not pay attention to the swinging snake near her face.

"_**Scratch my head, hermit. Make yourself useful, donkey. Ssss."**_

Hermione's squinted eyes looked directly at the large yellow eyes of the serpent, and as Nagini's forked tongue came out again, Hermione stuck out her tongue at the nasty serpent.

She was being childish, mimicking the snake, but Nagini was so spoiled that it was impossible to talk to her normally.

Nagini was Marvolo's familiar, and Hermione could see Voldemort's influence from a mile away.

"_**Last warning, Nagini. Back off, or I'll make you regret pissing me off."**_

One more word from the snake, and Hermione would make it pay dearly.

Nagini's tail suddenly turned all the notes and tea on the table, ruining Hermione's today's essay.

"_**Sssss. Clumsy donkey." **_

As Hermione looked over her destroyed notes and the smirking snake, she took out her wand.

Enough was enough.

_xxx_

"_**Massster, the donkey hurt Nagini."**_

"_**I did not hurt you, you liar. You started it! And stop calling me donkey!"**_

"_**Massster, Nagini wants to bite the donkey. Just once. Pleassssse."**_

"_**I'll chop you to pieces even before you say 'Massster', you shoelace."**_

"_**Masssster, the donkey is being nasty to Nagini."**_

"_**Make her stop calling me 'donkey'!"**_

Voldemort had his head in his hands as he sat in his chair with a standing Hermione and a half-standing Nagini—_without the Transfigured feet and red tutu_—before him. The snake was simply huge.

"_**Donkey, donkey, donkey, donkey, donkey, don-"**_

"_**Shut up!"**_

Voldemort sounded pissed as he barked at Nagini.

Hermione showed all her white teeth to the now sulking serpent before she felt pale eyes land on her.

"_**That applies to the both of you."**_

Hermione pursed her lips as she glared at the snake and its forked tongue.

"_**Massster, Nagini is not guilty. It's the donkey!"**_

"_**I am not a donkey, you nasty piece of shit!"**_

The next second Hermione was sitting on the floor with Nagini in her lap, just outside the double doors that closed with a bang.

"_**Stupid donkey."**_

"_**Shut it, you hag."**_

_xxx_

"I am not sure I want to spend every day training and playing under close inspection. I don't want discipline."

Harry was leaning back in the chair and drinking _something_ from a tall, bright-orange cup.

He would have bet all his Horcruxes that it was not water or juice, but he read the answer from Harry's trembling mind.

"But Harry, who said anything about discipline? You could play when you want and no one would say a word. You don't even need the medical check that is mandatory for everyone else."

Harry's large pupils were watching Nagini on the floor, and Voldemort smiled.

Harry was now thinking that it "sucked" _not_ to be a Parselmouth and where to buy new dosage. Harry took some sort of energizing drugs in the mornings, had a shake of Muggle and wizarding cocaine during the day, and had a handful of Ecstasy pills every few hours.

Those were the fast days, but there were the slow ones as well when Potter would take Red Opium—_the most powerful drug in the wizarding world_—and just stare at the ceiling for days.

And in the night, Harry took a Sleeping Draught so powerful, it was a wonder Potter still didn't kill himself with it.

Voldemort knew that Harry didn't care anymore—_obviously_—and he knew that Potter would most probably fall off the broom on the first Quidditch match with all the drugs in his system.

He would allow Potter to play even high or drunk, if he played. If he showed them all that Harry Potter was a Seeker for the team that was officially supported by his government, Harry could drink a cauldron with the Red Opium, for all he cared.

A silent statement to be heard by everyone.

For those fools, who still held some sort of insane hope that maybe something would happen and the world they knew would return.

Pathetic, naïve fools.

He was forever and ever. And they would be replaced soon.

New generations of witches and wizards would be raised worshipping the ground he was walking on. The wizarding population was growing rapidly, as for the Dark families, the Dark Union was a paradise to live in. He was bringing more and more people to his lands, and they all came here themselves, willingly. Soon, he'd have an army of fanatics so big that even Merlin would fall from his throne.

There would be only one god, and that would be him.

"You killed my parents."

_Here we go again …_

"Harry, remember what I told you about your parents? They loved you like fanatics, and would not allow anything to happen to you while they lived. Like Bellatrix. Would you kill Bellatrix if you came to kill me, if I became a toddler now?"

Voldemort did not doubt that before, Potter would have hesitated, just like Dumbledore and Hermione would. Soft, pathetic fools.

But now, after a half a year of insane amount of drugs, Potter was a different person. All the stupid notions about things being bad or good, were out of the drugged mind, and Voldemort didn't doubt that now Potter would not hesitate.

His Harry had snapped beautifully.

"I'd rip her throat out and squeeze her heart in a fist before tearing your flesh apart with my own teeth."

And Potter still called himself Light.

It was ridiculous how hypocritical people really were.

"I even asked your mother, I, Lord Voldemort, asked your Mudblood mother two times to step aside. It was my mercy that had almost killed me. Not some special power that you supposedly possessed but my mercy. I shouldn't have agreed to grant Severus a wish, to allow your mother to live, and I shouldn't have asked a Mudblood to step aside. You wouldn't ask Bellatrix, would you?

When Harry's mind was in such state, the influence his words had was intensified and the additional drugs made the words come directly through to Harry's heart.

"I used simple and fast Killing Curse instead of one of the many curses that I could have used. You should be grateful I granted your parents a quick death, Harry."

He saw Potter close his eyes with his shaking palm, and Voldemort couldn't hold back a pleased smile.

Harry was so unstable and so easily manipulated, and there was no one who could overpower his influence on Harry Potter now.

"What will the Weasleys think if I play on the team?"

Ah yes, the Weasleys.

He wanted to say they would be busy with their own problems very soon—_in May_—but it would ruin the surprise.

"And why do you still care, Harry? They needed you only when you were the Chosen One. Now, when you have lost the Horcrux, they just cast you aside. You don't really believe they think of you as their own son?"

Voldemort saw Harry take out a small transparent package from a pocket of his robes, and then Harry threw the package into the wall in rage, as it was empty.

Slowly taking a small envelope from his inner pocket, Lord Voldemort enlarged it before Potter's greedy, insane eyes.

"That would be your first bonus, Harry. One pound of the purest wizarding cocaine and a hundred pills of your favourite Ecstasy. If you catch the Snitch, I'll give you a trunk full with Sleeping Draught and the Crystal Tears. The drug market is mine, Harry, and I'll allow you to get anything you want."

Potter's hands were shaking as he tore the package and simply put his nose into the powder.

It shocked even Voldemort, and with wide eyes, he watched as Harry snorted at least a palm of powder before popping a few pills and polishing it all off with the drink full of other drugs.

"I still hate you, though, Tom."

Yes, yes. He had let Harry call him Tom for now, as there was no point arguing with Potter when the boy was high twenty-four seven. He could punish him—_he would_—but he had allowed Potter this small pleasure. He and Harry had a history together, and if not Harry, then whom would he allow it?

When Potter finally reached the bottom, Voldemort would drag him up, collecting the insane mind and creating a perfect soldier. That was, unless Potter ended up dead from the overdose, which would likely be the case, seeing how Harry was behaving.

Potter was good with magic and he was powerful, and with the level of insanity that Harry was showing, he'd surpass even Bellatrix.

He wanted Potter to play Quidditch before he would start dragging Harry into the Dark Arts.

If Potter still understood the difference between a golden snitch and the sun, Voldemort would be impressed.

He was definitely going to watch the match if Harry played. He would even take Hermione with him.

That would be hilarious.

_xxx_

The weather was sunny, and not one cloud was visible in the blue skies.

Spring was in full force now, and Hermione closed her eyes when a ray of sun blinded her for a second.

Hermione had to lick her lips as she looked at the images. She had ordered magical literature on different aspects of adult themes, and the anonymity and the possibility to avoid the awkward or simply uncomfortable situation was worth the money—_she had spent a lot_—but she was sure Voldemort would not mind.

He would have gladly pay for them himself.

Hermione took the glass with the sweet wine and wet her lips.

She had tried that position, that, and that, but that one looked uncomfortable, Hermione thought while taking in the moving figures in the magazine.

She was now reading—_devouring_—"The Pleasure In Pain", and she could not understand if she was more disgusted or more aroused.

The magazine was on the number one spot at the WizAmazon's special list, and it was madly popular, judging by the waiting list and the price.

Two hundred twenty-one Galleons for one magazine! It was insane, and Hermione agreed with that, but why not if she could?

She could and she would.

She was curious.

She was even more curious when it came to sex now.

She could try out anything she wanted—_well, except that one, Voldemort would never allow it_—as she had the best possible teacher not only in University studies but also in bed.

He read her every thought, he knew her every wish, he felt what she felt, and he had a part of his soul trapped in her.

Hermione had never believed herself to be a nymphomaniac, but apparently, she was one. If she had to be honest with herself though, she had to admit she wasn't one when it came to anyone but Voldemort. She didn't even get aroused from the pictures. It was the idea that she could try it with Marvolo that drove her lust to the skies.

She was sort of interested in several branches of the harder aspects of sexual life, and all she had to do was ask.

She would have to ask herself, as Voldemort—_Marvolo_—while being very creative and extremely imaginative, did not cross any borders she could have had. He simply did not offer any other branch of sex, and Hermione didn't like it. She wanted to know what Voldemort truly enjoyed.

He never caused her pain, nor did he cause her the _pleasurable_ pain that was depicted in the magazine. He did not make her do anything she didn't want to, and she was the one who would initiate the contact most of the times.

Hermione was sitting in her bright-red chair that smelled of Marvolo and she was reading the magazine when the door opened and Ron walked in.

Fucking hell!

Hermione lifted her feet at an angle, leaning back deeper into the shell-like chair, so that the cover would remain hidden and cast a non-verbal Illusion Charm, as she simultaneously tried to look normal and not like a deer caught in the headlights.

Shit. Talk about bad timing.

Ron …

Hermione did not know what their relationship was supposed to be in Ron's vision—_it was a lie_—but Hermione saw Ron now as a friend and a friend only.

She could pretend for Ron's sake, but there was no point in lying to herself.

She did not love Ron, and she definitely did not want him physically.

Hermione would never want to hurt Ron or any of the Weasleys, but she couldn't be the next Mrs. Weasley.

The thought made her shudder, and Hermione slapped her nasty mind.

She wasn't insane enough not to realize that she had fallen for Marvolo so hard that her brain was scattered all over the floor from the impact.

How was it possible to be so attracted to someone and hate this person at the same time?

Why couldn't she just accept the fact that she wanted to be with Marvolo only?

Hermione smiled at Ron, but her eyes did not shine.

Ron still had the key—_she couldn't say "no" when he had asked_—and Hermione wished to just tell Ron that he couldn't continue walking into her apartment as if it were his. Or theirs.

It wasn't theirs; it was hers.

Was it better to change the door and lie later that there was only one way to open the door? Magical signature and Voldemort had demanded it.

Before Ron even sat on the sofa, Hermione had the magazine in the stack with the rest of her papers for the University, between the Mind Arts and the Dark Arts' notes.

Hermione tried not to make drama from the fact that she had killed a person—_accidentally_—and that she had enjoyed the second Unforgivable, as there was no point in it.

She could wail all she wanted, but it would not change anything. Voldemort would still make her do what he thought was necessary, and he allowed only so much self-pity and self-hate.

Hermione could only try not to make similar mistakes in the future. She would not turn into an insane Dark Witch.

The Occlumency helped with emotions, as Hermione was able now to separate negative thoughts and just put them in a drawer in the cupboard she had created in her mind.

She was a monster, but she was still Hermione. She couldn't even think about the Cruciatus without shivering in disgust and self-hate.

Soon, she'd start with the barrier, and Voldemort wouldn't have to reinforce it every three days.

It made Hermione ecstatic, but at the same time, it didn't.

If Voldemort had no need to see her that often, what would happen to _them_?

_xxx_

"Harry, take more soup, darling. And the onion rings. You look so thin!"

He would vomit all over the table if he even touched the onion rings.

The smell was horrible and the food tasted of nothing—_he was already used to it, as food simply did not taste when he used speed_—and Harry forced his jaw to move and swallow the liquid soup.

Bah.

Harry managed to smile and make a happy face when the Weasleys looked at him, but he wanted to leave as soon as possible. He needed air and happier company.

His eyes looked normal as he had now used the charm Voldemort had shown him to put on a Glamour that did not need to be reinforced every few hours. His eyes were now green and not black from the huge pupils, and Harry almost didn't recognize his face this morning.

He looked normal, but it didn't mean anything.

Harry wiped his sweating forehead—_taking so much shit in one go before going to the Weasleys wasn't his brightest idea_—and drank one more glass of water.

If only he could smoke now …

Didn't the Weasleys have any sparkling drinks?

Harry loved the Magic Cola and the sweetened carbonated drinks, and he drank them in litres daily.

He didn't want to ask for beer as he was a good boy and good boys did not drink alcohol.

_They only took drugs in amounts that made even the head dealer, aka the Dark Lord, to stare at them in shock._

"Mrs. Weasley, I am so full that I'll explode. Everything is so tasty, but I simply cannot anymore."

He needed a fucking cigarette and to leave this smelly room before he simply regurgitated all the eaten crap—_he didn't even remember what he had eaten_—onto the floor or into the window. Wouldn't that be nice …

"Harry, can we talk outside?"

Thank fucking Merlin! Ron didn't talk much recently, but if Harry would be able to leave the kitchen before the dessert—_just the thought of the fatty, creamy dessert made his stomach shake_—he'd gladly talk to Ron.

Voldemort was wrong about Weasleys. They didn't care about fame or money.

_xxx_

"And that is why I am asking for your help."

Harry had to shake his head as he had forgotten what Ron had said in the beginning of his long monologue. How long could one talk?

"Right, no problem!"

Harry had no clue what he was promising, but it wasn't like he cared really.

Ron and him had fallen apart, and Harry didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing. Ron had been there for him when he needed—_except a few times when he simply abandoned him or turned his back_—and while he was his friend, Harry had other company now, who didn't cry about money or how shitty the world had turned out to be. He didn't want to drag Ron into the shit in which Harry now daily swam.

It was hard to live even without such hard reminders, and Harry preferred not to see the reality.

"So you'll help me with the money?"

Whoa … wait a minute!

"But you said you had a job now, Ron. Don't you make money?"

Harry would gladly help, but he was curious. Ron was a strategist on the team—_he had no idea how Ron had landed himself such a cool spot on the team when Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort were the owners_—and he should be making money now.

"I make money! But I pay so much taxes and Mom needs the money, so I end up having not enough for what I want!"

_Whoa … then don't want things that you cannot afford, Ron!_

"Tell me again, are you the advisor or the strategist for the Chudley Cannons?" Harry asked while taking a cigarette and lightning it, not paying attention to Ron's hanging jaw.

"You're smoking!"

_Well, duh …_

If only Ron saw what else Harry did …

He didn't need a parent. He had a pair and they were dead.

"My smoking is not your job, is it?"

Harry closed his eyes as a new wave of pleasure clouded his mind, and he wanted to dance from the euphoria.

"I am an advisor, and I make enough money. I'm asking for your help because you're my friend, and you're Harry Potter, you cannot smoke!"

Didn't Ron say he was the strategist? If there was one thing Harry hated, it was lying. He was allergic to lies, and now he had some sort of a sixth sense when it came to lying. That was why he still hadn't talked to Hermione. He didn't want them to sit in some bar and lie to one another. He knew they both would.

The Golden Trio …

One was Voldemort's close _friend_, one was an insane drug-addict who was sort of pals with the Dark Lord, and one was bad liar who wanted everything he couldn't have.

A bunch of merry liars.

"Are you the strategist or the advisor, Ron? Don't lie to me. I am your friend and I am Harry Potter, so I do as I please."

_And I am so high now that I could reach the sun and kiss it._

"Forget it. I'm going inside."

Harry watched as Ron just got up from the ground and walked back to the Burrow.

The old Harry would have run after his friend, but the new Harry took out another cigarette and popping in a few pills, he Apparated away.

He'd talk to Draco or Tom about Ron's position. He hated lies.

_xxx_

"And I don't know what I should do, Hermione!"

Ginny drank her cocktail and Hermione ordered a new round.

Molly did not know, but Ginny had written Hermione a letter, asking to meet her somewhere for a talk.

The bar Hermione had chosen was quiet and fashionable, and while being in Knockturn Alley, it wasn't that bad.

"I really don't know what to tell you, Gin. I wish I could give you a good advice, but I'm not the best person to ask."

Hermione saw Ginny purse her lips and take a deep breath.

"What would you do, Hermione? What would you do if you were in my place?"

Ginny had been flirting with a one boy from Ravenclaw, and while Ginny loved Harry, it wasn't going to work. Ginny could not approach Harry, and she didn't understand why. She waited long enough.

Harry didn't show up most of the times she had been at the Weasleys, and the times when she did see him, he wasn't very talkative. Hermione promised herself to deal with the mystery that Harry's life had become as soon as possible.

Harry was an adult, and while Hermione could pester him with questions, he didn't have to answer to her.

And Ginny was asking if it was ok to wish for physical intimacy while loving another person.

"What's his name?"

It was pretty hard to be Ginny emotionally now. Her love was nowhere to be seen, he didn't initiate contact, and Ginny was at Hogwarts. Harry did not want contact with Ginny, and Hermione did not understand why.

"Mark."

An easy name, unlike _someone else's. _

Hermione still didn't have a name for the whole figure that was drawing out in the sand, and she didn't like it.

But with Ginny, it was really not her business to tell Harry anything if he was acting like a pig.

"I'd do it, Ginny."

_She_ already had.

If Ginny wanted to feel the pleasure, then who was Hermione to lecture her when she had a hot night ahead of her with one creative Dark Lord?

"Thank you, Hermione. Thank you so much for understanding and being my friend."

It wasn't that hard considering her situation. She wasn't that critical and well, prudish, now. Not anymore.

"You're always welcome, Ginny."

If only Hermione had known the consequences of her words of encouragement, she would have sewed her mouth shut forever.

_xxx_

Narcissa swallowed her tears as Lucius simply threw Draco across the room before casting a Cruciatus.

"Lucius, stop!" Narcissa tried to get Lucius's attention, and when her husband turned to her, releasing their son from the curse, she almost blanched.

"You know I love you, but I suggest you close your mouth, Narcissa. Our son is a drug addict, and I am not going to let him follow Potter into the abyss!"

Lucius was shaking with rage, and Narcissa did the only thing that had always helped.

She slapped him.

Her Lucius closed his grey eyes, and when he opened them, Narcissa screamed as the Cruciatus was now directed onto her.

_xxx_

"Father, stop!"

Draco cried from the floor as his mother was now screaming in pain, and when his father lifted the curse and walked over to him, his polished shoes clicking on the marmor floor, Draco swallowed hard.

"Are you an imbecile, Draco? I work over twelve hours almost daily to give you and your mother the best possible life. And what do you do, my son? You get high with that idiot Potter and you dare to come home with such eyes? What if the Dark Lord calls for you now? What would I do then?"

Lucius's refined face was twisted in anger, and Draco had never been more afraid of his father.

This was not the Lucius Malfoy he wanted to see.

"Why can't you do anything right?!"

The words hurt even more than the aftershocks of the curse. There was only one person Draco cherished and respected, and that was his father. And the pale grey that shone with disappointment made it hard to breathe.

"Potter also takes it, and he said the Dark Lord allowed it. Potter said the Dark Lord had given him everything himself." Draco understood it had been a wrong thing to say when his father's eyes became even more insane with rage.

"Are you a Malfoy or are you a Weasley with blond hair? Are you an idiot for real or do you just like to piss me off, Draco?"

Draco was shaking from fear as his father grabbed him by his collar and pulled up before slamming into the wall.

"The Dark Lord wants Potter destroyed. Potter is Potter, and you are my son. My son!"

Lucius's hand was shaking a bit, and Draco understood that his father was barely controlling himself.

"Lucius, please."

Draco's scared grey eyes met his mother's worried blue ones, and Draco wanted to wake up. He wanted his dad back. He wanted the world he had grown up in back.

_xxx_

Lucius slammed the door shut behind him as he sat in his office.

He had never cast Cruciatus on Narcissa and Draco before, but today, his son simply pushed him over the edge. And Narcissa didn't help the matters.

He was running around like a maniac, creating a perfect world for his family, only to come home and see his son on drugs that he himself was distributing all over the world.

The irony was not lost on him, but Lucius would not allow his only child to become a drug addict like Potter had become. He had seen the boy a few times, and to say that Potter was addicted would be a very hard understatement.

He couldn't allow his child to become _that_.

Narcissa had allowed too much while Lucius was away or busy, and he could see the results clearly.

Enough was enough.

_xxx_

"Are you sure?"

The lips were kissing her neck, and Hermione whispered a "Yes" before taking a handful of black hair and kissing those elegant lips with insane hunger.

"There is no safe-word for the games that I like to play, Hermione. Nothing would stop me if I started. If I tell you you're not ready, then I mean it."

Voldemort was now kissing her breasts, and Hermione had to squeeze her pillow; otherwise, she'd tear his hair from the scalp.

"I will show you something lighter, though, if you're so eager, my sweet."

"Then show me," Hermione said while looking into the pale-blue eyes.

_xxx_

He could show her what he liked, but with Hermione, he had to tread carefully. He needed her to fall for him completely, to show him what love meant, before he could use her emotions and finish his plan.

He was going to use his ties now and not his knives. The knives would have to wait.

As he watched the naked body on the bed, Voldemort took out four ties from their case, and as he saw Hermione shiver in anticipation, he walked closer to the eager woman.

She was definitely not a girl.

Not anymore.

**xxx cut scene xxx**

_xxx_

He heard his father return, and judging by the laughter, he wasn't alone.

Draco saw his mother on the stairs, come downstairs to greet Uncle Rabastan, and check what was happening, and when the doors to his father's office opened, Draco almost fell onto his ass from the shock.

Both his father and Rabastan were laughing so hard that Draco could see them both shake. While Rabastan was crying openly, his father was holding a hand over his eyes.

Lucius Malfoy was crying from laughter and that meant something very nasty was going to happen soon.

Whatever brought so much joy and hilarity to those two men could not be anything good.

"Are you finished with your task, Draco?"

Rabastan was trying to calm down, and it was his father who had asked the question. Lucius's voice was still extremely amused but held a note of warning in it at the same time.

He had done everything he had been told to do. Everything was ready, and Draco didn't know if he should be proud or horrified of himself.

He put two and two together and understood what would probably happen. And he was supposed to enjoy it?

"Mark McMillan has taken an Unbreakable Oath, Father."

Draco saw his father's eyes shine with emotion that he had so rare seen lately and his heart missed a beat.

He so wanted to make him proud.

He so wanted to see Lucius Malfoy like he was now, with a proud glint in pale grey eyes and a happy sincere smile on his refined face.

_I am a Malfoy._

_xxx_

Ginny did not know that the eager hands and the sweet smile had been bought by the Malfoys, and she didn't see a small round ball that was taking in every movement in the room. She couldn't know that Rita Skeeter was already writing the article and that soon she'd find out what hell really meant.

She was a Weasley, and they were passionate.

She couldn't think when she wanted to just feel.

She was curious.

_xxx_

_a/n Well, next chapter should be really interesting to write. It'd be May XD. Please let me know what you think! Waves!_

Xxx


	22. Shame

_Hi!_

_Well, here's the new chapter. _

_I would like you to remember that Hermione is 18. She may be an adult and smarter than most, but she's a young girl. She is not a super-woman and she has her breaking points. That said, I promise I'll keep her sane, unlike I did with Harry._

_I have always wanted to write Dark!Insane! Harry, and I'll try it a bit in this story. _

_With this chapter, I wanted to show you that 'bad boys' are not only cool and funny, but also really bad. I won't sugar-coat anything._

_I would like to thank you all for the great reviews, alerts and favourites! _

_I think I replied to all of you, but since my email decided to act like Nagini, I may have answered some of you twice, and missed the other emails. If that is the case, I apologize._

_Guest- thank you so much! I also cannot believe that I make Voldemort/Hermione lighten the story :) But it is a dark story, and that concerns all characters. The good and the bad. I actually feel sorry for Draco and Harry. But I dislike Ginny, so… XD _

_If you could continue letting me know what you think, I would be extremely grateful._

_If you have any questions, I'll gladly answer them all._

_No parts have been cut from this chapter._

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Horcrux Mine**

_xxx_

Chapter Twenty Two

**May**

Narcissa saw Lucius Apparate to the call of the Dark Mark, and with a sigh, she got up from the chair and walked towards the windows.

Lucius had been called to the Dark Lord—_for the first time in the whole week_—and Narcissa didn't like the feeling of something eating at her gut. Something was going on and she didn't know what, as Lucius refused to tell her anything business-related. It had always been so before Lucius managed to almost get them all killed, and Narcissa had had to interfere. But now, for over a year already, Lucius didn't tell her anything at all.

Narcissa slowly walked over to Lucius's desk, and when her eyes fell on the papers that her husband had been dealing with the last days, she had to close her mouth with her hand.

_What is this?!_

With wide eyes, Narcissa took the pictures into her hands, and she could not believe what she was seeing.

How could Lucius even think about it? Was he insane?

What kind of monster was her husband turning into?

_xxx_

If only he could control the trial …

He would give away half of his soul to be able to finish this pathetic family. If only he could be the one to deliver the blow …

But alas, the Dark Lord had just informed them all—_him, the Lestranges, Dolohov and Rookwood_—that their Lord would supervise the trial, and one did not put his wishes before the wishes of the Dark Lord if one wished to live.

"Lucius, step forward."

He would still enjoy the show even if he couldn't be the head of the trial commission.

"My Lord."

If only …

"The Weasleys are yours, Lucius."

…

Could it really be?

"I will supervise the trial, but I will not interfere unless I find it necessary. The trial is yours to do as you please, Lucius."

It was hard to breathe from the feelings that took over his heart and mind, and as Lucius got down on his knees before his Master, he had never worshipped him more.

"I am your Lord, and I reward those who serve me faithfully."

His Lord addressed all the gathered Death Eaters, but Lucius felt that the words were for him only.

He would be able to finish what his father couldn't. Lucius would be the one to destroy that pathetic family, and everyone will watch him do so.

"My soul is yours, My Lord."

Lucius's voice was raspy from all the emotions, and as he looked directly into the pale-blue eyes, Lucius saw Lord Voldemort smile.

This time, Lucius really meant it, and they both knew it.

He had never been so proud to be a Malfoy and serve his Master.

Whatever it took …

_xxx_

"You will not use those horrible pictures to frame the girl, Lucius!"

Narcissa could not look at the raised eyebrows or the laughing grey eyes that she loved so much.

This was just a child, younger than Draco, and her husband was going to destroy the girl.

"Of course I will not frame the girl, Cissy. Don't be ridiculous."

Well … maybe Lucius wasn't lost yet …

"I'll frame her whole family."

Narcissa could only stare as her husband opened the papers he had brought with him from the Dark Lord, and for the first time in her life, Narcissa was ashamed to be a Malfoy when she saw the _Daily Prophet_ that was going to appear everywhere in just a few hours.

It was one thing to hate Muggles and everything Muggle-related, but to be so cruel and ruthless to other pure-bloods … even to the Weasleys …

It was sick even for Lucius.

"Lucius, you will not do it."

Narcissa was now standing near her husband, and as she saw the icy glint in his eyes, she closed hers.

"I already have."

_xxx_

Molly Weasley cleaned the stove and put away the rest of the liquid porridge into the fridge. While not having money wasn't something that was new, now, it was catastrophical.

Arthur came downstairs, his bright-orange hair now almost fully grey, and Molly hugged her dear husband before kissing him on the cheek.

As long as they had one another, they would survive anything.

It was eight o'clock in the morning when a knock sounded in the Burrow, and as Molly opened the door to see who came so early, her heart froze in fear and plummeted into her stomach.

With panicked eyes, Molly watched the crowd of at least twenty people outside, and when her gaze landed on the two blonds, Molly had to lean on the door.

"Darling, who is it?"

She heard Arthur say from behind her before her husband stepped forward. She felt his hand grip her arm when he saw Lucius Malfoy and Rita Skeeter smile at them from the crowd of Aurors —_now called Excubitores_—and reporters with flashing cameras.

What did the bastard want? Didn't he cause enough pain already?

_xxx_

"Arthur Weasley."

It was hard not to laugh as Lucius watched the panicked eyes of the rats. It never felt so good to be him.

His father had died before he could avenge their family, but now he, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, would be able to finish his ancestors' fight with the Weasleys.

"What do you want in my home, Malfoy?"

If one could call that barn a home …

Even with all the expanding charms and magic, the barn looked so tiny that Lucius doubted that his shoes would fit in if he decided to turn the place into a shoe closet.

He wanted to dance from glee, but he needed to remain calm in front of the sea of cameras.

He was a Malfoy.

"Tell me, Weasley. Have you read the _Daily Prophet_ or any other newspaper yet?"

Lucius smiled as he heard Rita giggle from his left and watched the alarmed eyes of the womb of a wife—_what a fat, ugly whale_—take in the Excubitores behind him—_he hated the name "Aurors" so much that he simply had to change it, and the Dark Lord did not mind._

Before the head Weasel could open his mouth, Lucius took out the rolled-up _Daily Prophet_.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Arthur's voice wasn't shaking, but the pale, sweaty face and the freckled hand that was holding the whale—_spasming over the layers of fat_—told him just how worried Arthur really was.

_I want to watch this memory every morning and every evening before going to bed._

"It's Minister Malfoy for you, Weasley. Open the newspaper and tell me what you think I want."

_Yes, yes! Open it and look at me, Weasley!_

Lucius had to grip his silver cane so that his hands stopped itching.

_Fucking open it already!_

As his hungry grey eyes watched now trembling hands open the scroll and when he heard the scream of the whale, Lucius smiled at the shocked, white face of his nemesis, and his smile was sincere.

"Arthur Weasley, you are arrested for procuring prostitution, distribution of pornography, and tax evasion."

Lucius couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him when Molly Weasley fell onto the ground, her heavy mass now lying on the grass with a spread Daily Prophet covering the ugly face.

"**Daily Prophet Special Edition! Prostitution and pornography at Hogwarts! Ginny Weasley caught in action! The society is in shock!"**

Lucius watched as Arthur dropped onto his knees near the whale—_how could a man want such body?_—and as the tears started to run down the closed blue eyes and over the trembling lips, Lucius had never been more happy in his life.

He was a Malfoy.

_xxx_

""**The daughter of Arthur Weasley is a prostitute and a porn star at Hogwarts. The shock of the century!" by Rita Skeeter, page 1-21**

"_Dear readers, you will not believe the amorality and the perversion shown by one wizarding family. The depths of the perverse entanglement are hard to comprehend even for such an experienced reporter as myself. Something like this had been happening at Hogwarts, where our children learn the art of magic, and we never knew. We cannot blame ourselves, dear readers, as we cannot expect something so sick to take place in the school that we all know and love. The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Rabastan Lestrange, still cannot believe what Ginny Weasley had been doing all this time and promised full investigation, together with our beloved Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, who immediately, after finding out the horrible truth, issued an arrest order for one Arthur Weasley. The charges that are pressed are not full and will be expanded when our hard-working Law Enforcement gets to the depth of this perverse, sick family's deepest secrets. The Ministry allowed the press to take part in the investigation, protecting our freedom of speech and morality. _

_The Ministry of Magic will protect our society, and we must help them!"_

**Rita Skeeter, the head reporter of the Daily Prophet and the chief-correspondent for the Weasley case."**

The Daily Prophet fell from her hands, and Ginny looked around.

The Great Hall was so silent that she could hear her heavy breathing.

No, no, no, no!

It could not be happening!

"Ginny Weasley, you will come with me."

Ginny's insane-with-panic brown eyes met the laughing green ones of the Headmaster, and only when he smiled did she fully understand what she had done.

No …

As Ginny started to walk towards the exit with the Headmaster, she felt all the gazes on her.

The_ Daily Prophet_ was held in every pair of hands, and Ginny felt her heart in her throat when she saw the moving images from everywhere.

_xxx_

"**The daughter of Arthur Weasley is a prostitute and a porn star at Hogwarts. The shock of the century!" by Rita Skeeter, page 1-21**

"**Scandal at Hogwarts! A student prostitutes her body!" Page 1**

"**The Weasleys pimp their daughter and sell pornography with her in main role!" Page 2-3**

"**Incest runs deep with the Weasleys! Who with whom!" Page 4-8**

"**Ginny Weasley rides not only brooms!" Page 9-16, age restricted**

"**Ginny Weasley cheats on Harry Potter!" Page 17**

"**Life in the Burrow. Details from close sources!" Page 18-19**

"**Minister Malfoy promises to save our society from the amoral rats!" Page 1 and 20**

George Weasley roared in horror and pain as he slammed the Daily Prophet onto the counter of the joke shop he had opened with his twin brother.

For the first time, George was glad that Fred was already dead.

_xxx_

Ron was sitting on floor, near the closed door, holding the useless key in his trembling hand. The anti-Apparation wards did not allow him to simply Apparate into the apartment, and the key did not fit anymore.

Hermione was away on a university-arranged trip to Nepal, even though the semester was over, and she'd be away for one more day, but Ron needed to just sit in the same place where Hermione spent her days, to run away from the horror, to not face the reality. To not see the laughing, leering faces of everyone around.

Harry was nowhere to be found, and as tears fell onto the cold floor, Ron understood that he was all alone now.

His family was doomed, and there was no one to help them.

_xxx_

Hermione was lying with her eyes opened, enjoying the cool breeze from outside and watching the figure beside her.

He was sleeping, and he looked so perfect that Hermione could not stop her hand as her fingers softly traced the lines of his face.

This was the man that she loved.

One week ago, Hermione would still lie to herself and claim that she only wanted him, but now, after one week in Goa, she couldn't lie anymore.

She truly loved Marvolo.

One week she'd spent here, on the most beautiful beaches she had ever seen, swimming in the transparent water that was the same color as the intelligent eyes that watched her from the shore. She swam naked in the moonlight, not afraid of dark waters, because she was not alone. Her naked body was pleasured on the white sand with light waves caressing their bodies so many times during this week that Hermione felt empty when they weren't united. She missed him, even when he slept near her now. She had fallen so deep that she didn't know how she would climb back up.

Every minute of the week she had spent with him, and she wanted more. He was her obsession.

If only he hadn't been the Dark Lord …

They had been to Kolkata and visited many wonderful places, but it wasn't the location that mattered, it was the company. He had left only once, before quickly returning and surprising her in the swimming pool.

Marvolo didn't kill or torture anyone during the week, and Hermione realised that when she didn't see his bad side, she adored him.

He was everything she wanted from a man and more.

Hermione smiled as she thought about what they had been doing all week. She dared to ask him if she could come with him when Voldemort simply told her he was going to Goa.

Voldemort and Goa did not sound well together, but Marvolo and Goa did.

He was Marvolo and he allowed it.

Their spacious cabin was located directly in the waters, standing on four bars in the blue ocean, and if she wanted, she could swim in the pool that separated the waters and the lounge. White beaches and ocean were all she saw. They were the only ones in the area.

To say it was magical would be not enough.

They watched the sunrises and the sunsets; they made love on the lounge, on the bed, in the water. They had sex in the bathroom, in the bath, and the twirl pool. They fucked on the sand and in the swimming pool.

He read with her sitting in his lap, and she drank coffee from his cup.

She used his shampoo, and she sniffed his perfume when he didn't watch.

In one week, her world was turned upside down, and Hermione did not know how she could return to living in reality.

She preferred not to think about the cold truth that—_most probably_—was waiting for her. Hermione already knew that Lord Voldemort didn't suddenly turn all white and fluffy, and she knew he liked emotional "showers". Up and down.

And since this was the highest up, then one day, she'd find out what hell meant.

And his smile had been sincere when he had nodded in unspoken agreement to her silent conclusion.

He looked so relaxed that Hermione couldn't help but wonder how he managed to sleep so well.

He had done things not one other man—_or wizard_—had done, and he enjoyed it.

Hermione understood that after this fairytale week she would have months of nightmares.

And screams in the night.

She couldn't sleep normally, and the nightmares were almost daily. The people—_the dead ones from the Piccadilly or Paris_—screamed; she heard the Killing Curse and saw the King's Cross station, but now in other details, different. Chantel looked at her every night with her opened, unseeing eyes.

But this week, her mind was light. There had been no nightmares.

She hadn't felt better in a long time, and she knew why. The Horcrux became euphoric when her body became one with the main soul's body, and she could feel it, too, if she wanted. It was a temptation, just like those lips were.

He kissed her many times.

He held her often, bridal style, as he actually carried her into the waters or into bed.

She took his hand without thinking about it, and she kissed the tender lips when she wanted to. Here, in Goa, he was hers and she was his.

There was no Lord Voldemort and Hermione Granger; there were two lovers who could not get enough of each other.

She slept in his arms, seeing funny or happy dreams, and she had never been happier in her whole life.

Hermione squeaked when her finger was suddenly licked, and as she looked into the pale-blue eyes, she wanted this moment to never end.

She hated Voldemort, but Marvolo was irresistible.

_xxx_

"Will I hate you?"

Hermione asked, slowly tracing lines on the toned stomach, not looking into the pale eyes.

It was the morning, and today, they would be returning to Britain. Hermione's first year at Illuminus was finished—_with Outstandings only_—and Hermione knew that a cold shower was ahead.

"You already do, my sweet."

Marvolo's voice was sensuous when he touched her hair and lifted her chin with one hand to look at him.

Yes, she did. But she felt that somehow, she'd hate him even more—_if it were possible_—upon finding out what he had in store for her.

"Will I hate you more?" Hermione asked now, not tearing her gaze from the eyes that were twinkling with mischief.

"Of course."

Well …

"What have you done?"

Marvolo lifted her a bit up—_it was ridiculous how easily he twirled her wherever he wanted, but she was small and light_—and Hermione now sat fully on Marvolo's naked body.

"I actually haven't done anything, my sweet. I was here with you this whole time, remember?"

Hermione tried to hold the conversation, but as Marvolo nudged her to slowly move, a moan escaped her lips.

She was slowly riding him, but she wouldn't stop the questioning. She needed to know.

"Ahhh, then who, ahh, has?"

It wasn't that easy to talk when having sex.

"Who do you think?"

Slowly going up and down, Hermione moaned before concentrating again.

"Malfoy, isn't it?"

The hard stroke up was the only confirmation she needed.

"You promised not to target my friends or the Order." Hermione steadied herself on both arms before leaning closer to the handsome face and biting gently on his bottom lip.

"And I always keep my promises, my sweet. I didn't target them like you think. And in all honesty that I possess, I am telling you, I haven't done anything. I allowed Lucius free rein for a week because I'm spending my time with you here. I am actually quite innocent."

Hermione started to move again as the hands on her waist started to guide her body.

Marvolo had had enough of talk for now.

"Innocent" was not a word she'd use to describe Marvolo. And Lucius. What had that blasted Malfoy done?

"You'll find out soon. Now start moving."

_Asshole_, Hermione thought and raised her body before brutally pushing down.

His loud moan was echoed by hers. She'd find out soon anyway.

_xxx_

Hermione put the _Daily Prophet _onto the table, and looking at Marvolo's laughing eyes, she slapped him on the cheek.

The slap could be heard even in the remote areas, and Hermione's hand felt like it was on fire when she was suddenly captured by two strong arms that held her tight.

"So fierce. And what if I hit you back, breaking all those beautiful white teeth, hm, my sweet?"

She hated him so much it was hard to breathe. Maybe she needed him to hurt her, to finally get her sick mind together.

However, she highly doubted Voldemort would hit her like a Muggle. He was many things but a woman beater he was not, and Hermione knew this for sure.

"Hit me then," Hermione spat into the smiling face.

How could he be so cruel? How can they all be so ruthless?

"If that is what you wish …"

Hermione didn't have a time to blink before she was thrown against a wall.

He wasn't using magic, and as Hermione got up on her feet, she attacked him again, this time pushing at him with her body, managing to bring them onto the floor.

Her one hand was behind her back, being twisted in an angle that hurt like hell, but her rage was so powerful that the pain did not matter.

They rolled on the floor, the furniture was smashed to pieces, and as Hermione's leg managed to hit him where it hurt the most, her hair was pulled up and twisted in a fist before her head was slammed against the floor.

She felt the blood in her mouth and felt the heavy breathing near her ear.

"I am stronger magically, physically, and mentally. There is nothing you can do, my lioness."

Hermione turned her head and spat the blood into the pale eyes.

_xxx_

He was going to lose it one day and simply kill her.

Voldemort was looking into the enraged brown eyes, and he liked what he saw.

He had thought up this whole charade with vacation, knowing that Hermione would want to come with him. He needed this one week to cement her emotions for him, and he knew he did well.

He hadn't been pretending this week as he was having a good time, and Hermione's company was something he could tolerate.

She was smart and curious, but she knew when he was in the mood to answer her questions and when it was better to keep quiet.

She wasn't clinging to him, and she wasn't acting. Her thoughts were amusing or even interesting, and her brilliance made him smile often.

She even already recognized the pattern he was following with her, and it pleased him more than it should have.

Hermione truly hated him, but she truly loved him. It was insane how complicated her emotions were, and it took him a whole night to process her feelings as she was sleeping.

She still refused to bend to his will fully, and she would keep resisting him for as long as she could.

She loved her friends and believed in good and evil, but she wanted him on so many levels that Voldemort simply could not understand how it was possible to feel such opposite emotions for one person.

He knew from the very beginning that Hermione had a few very weak points that she didn't know about.

She respected authority figures—_a bit too much_—and she loved power, no matter what she said.

She would do anything for the people she cared about, and it didn't matter what happened to others if those she cared about were safe.

She Oblivated her own parents before sending them to Australia.

He saw her memories and the stunt with this Umbridge woman was simply devious. Hermione brought a person into the Forbidden Forest without knowing if the person survived the night or not.

She was sneaky and evil when she thought it was for the better good.

Her thirst for knowledge was second only to his as was her brilliance.

And she was violent.

If he used all the pressure points correctly, he'd be able to catch her completely.

He had allowed her almost anything, and he knew it worked miracles. Hermione was like a wild fire. If captured between barriers, she'd burn and violently twirl on the ground, but when allowed free rein, she'd be strong and fast, spreading around and up.

Just like he preferred her to be.

And she had hit him again.

And even asked him to hit her, which was something he hadn't expected from anyone.

She was lucky he was satisfied with her progress and the week hadn't been that bad. Otherwise, he would have hit her hard, making her swallow her teeth and not slap her—_lightly for him_—on the cheek.

He wasn't a woman beater, but he was violent._ Very violent._

He watched as Hermione gathered herself from the floor, touching her flaming red check lightly with her fingertips.

He hoped she had satisfied her violent urges because he didn't know how long he'd be able to control himself otherwise. He didn't want to kill her now.

As her high-heel shoe flew towards his face, Voldemort quickly ducked to the side, and the shoe hit the glass door behind him.

It looked like they would stay here for a few hours more.

_xxx_

Hermione was sitting near a wall, leaning heaving on it, as she watched Voldemort wipe the blood from his face.

She had managed to hit him a few times, and as she spit the blood onto the wooden floor, she couldn't help but smile.

She beat up the Dark Lord and she was still alive. Her hands hurt like hell, her shoulder was probably dislocated, her cheek would be blue soon, and her head was heavy, but Hermione would gladly continue if she had any power left.

He was right. He _was _stronger in all aspects, and she was no one in the new world while he was everything.

But it didn't mean she'd give up.

That bastard didn't force or drug Ginny because Hermione knew of Ginny's plans, but to use it like that …

Even if it had been Malfoy's doings—_sick, ruthless fuck_—Voldemort controlled Malfoy fully, so that meant he could have stopped this horror if he so wished.

"Let Ginny go."

Hermione saw Voldemort laugh as he sat onto the only repaired piece of furniture.

"Negotiations are not your forte yet, my sweet."

She knew she couldn't have done anything if she had been present in Britain, and she understood that Voldemort didn't bring her here to simply hide Malfoy's work from her view.

Malfoy was a Minister, and Voldemort was in charge of the country, so a fair trial was not something she'd expect to see and she would not be able to change anything.

She needed to do something to help Ginny and the Weasleys!

"Allow a fair trial, at least!"

They were sitting in a destroyed bungalow, looking at each other.

"Like my Death Eaters got seventeen years ago, you mean?"

Hermione closed her eyes with her hand as she thought about how to help her friends.

"Don't make a fool of yourself and state that they had been evil, bad people and deserved it."

There was no good or evil in this new world. There was only power, and unfortunately for good people, the power was in the hands of one insane maniac.

"Exactly."

Hermione's tired eyes looked directly into curious blue ones as she asked for the one thing that could help Ginny a bit.

"At least give her a lawyer, a representative with knowledge of laws and wizarding trials."

Hermione saw Voldemort's raised eyebrow and waited with held breath.

"And in return?"

She was dealing with the Heir of Slytherin and not Hufflepuff …

"What do you want?"

He could have anything he wanted, and Hermione honestly did not know what she could offer him.

"I'll give her a representative with knowledge of magical Law and experience in trials, but in return, when we're not alone, you'll address me properly."

No, no, no …

"It's up to you, my sweet. You asked what I wanted, and I am telling you that. It's your choice, Hermione."

Hermione did not know how long she'd be able to remain sane in this world.

Every person had a cracking point, and she was now looking at hers directly in the pale-blue eyes.

_xxx_

Harry dragged himself from the floor, and with a shaking hand, he reached for the pills. He spent the last days under the Red Opium, and now he had to attend this joke of a trial because he needed to see it with his own eyes.

"Come, Potter, you need to shower and dress, and we have only one hour."

Couldn't Malfoy shut up and let him just be?

"Did you bring my new order?" Harry asked as he felt lighter and fit from the pills he had taken.

Malfoy shook his head before putting a huge box onto the table.

"Yes, Father got you everything you wanted. So get up and clean yourself. I cannot be seen with someone so dirty," Malfoy sneered before telling the house-elf he had brought with him to proceed with cleaning up.

_Yeah, well, fuck you, Draco._

Harry would have gone to the trial wearing only his boxers as he simply did not care, but then he'd lose his endless supply of any drug he wanted. He didn't have to roam the streets any more, looking for dealers when the manufacturer provided him with absolutely everything and even did house-delivery.

Even with things that weren't on the black market yet.

Like Euphoria that he had just taken.

The fact that even if he got caught using drugs in public places—_it was against the law even in Voldemort's world_—would not cause him any troubles—_he did not want to spend his time with Dementors and no drugs_—made the effort to clean up—_or just sit meditating while being cleaned up_—worth it.

Ginny had done it on her own will as Malfoy swore to him that she hadn't been drugged or forced—_he could see she hadn't been forced in all the ten newspapers on the table_—and Harry didn't know what to think.

It was probably a blessing that he had already snapped as Harry wasn't sure any normal person would be able to take so much shit and remain sane.

He wondered how Hermione was doing.

_xxx_

Molly was looking at this tanned, perfectly dressed girl, and she couldn't believe it was Hermione.

They were already in the courtroom that was so full it had been hard to find a place, and Molly could only stare at the polished girl as she talked to the Greengrass family, sitting with them in the front row.

Why did _her_ daughter have to face this hell?

_xxx_

Hermione was talking to Daphne when she saw Daphne's eyes widen.

Quickly turning her head towards the entrance, Hermione felt her heart explode.

The entrance had been empty as everyone was already seated—_only Voldemort, Harry and the defence lawyer had been missing_—so it wasn't hard to notice the tall figure dressed in green and silver colors enter the courtroom.

It wasn't Voldemort though who had caused the quiet whispers or wide eyes from everyone. It was the second figure that came with Voldemort and now sat in the front row, opposite of Hermione.

She could only stare at the green tie that matched the eyes so well and the black hair that was styled and wasn't messy anymore, and Hermione felt the tears roll down her cheeks as Harry waved at Draco Malfoy who quickly sat near him and whispered something into his ear.

Dear Merlin, what had Voldemort done to Harry?

What had Harry done to himself?

_xxx_

Ginny was shivering so hard that the clinging of shackles on her arms could be heard around the full courtroom.

She knew that somehow Hermione had managed to get them a defence lawyer and that they'd have someone to represent them, but she was sure the so-called trial would be a farce.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting on the head tribune, in the spotlight, and Ginny's red eyes looked to Malfoy's right, where Voldemort was leaning back into his huge chair, and then to the left, where Rabastan Lestrange was going through the papers—_probably full with horrors that she'd hear soon_—and Ginny preferred to stare at Lucius's smirking face and not see her family in the back rows or her dad, shackled near to her. Or the flashes from cameras.

She would look anywhere but not at Harry.

If this was Harry at all …

It could not get worse.

Where was their lawyer?

Ginny was looking at Hermione when she saw Hermione's hand fly up to cover her mouth, and then Hermione was looking at Voldemort who had actually winked in return.

Ginny couldn't turn around and see what had caused Hermione's reaction, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Her suspicions were proven true within the next couple of seconds. As Lucius Malfoy stated that the Prosecution and the Defence were ready, she saw Harry hold his stomach and laugh out loud. Ginny closed her eyes in defeat as the reason for the look of horror on Hermione's face stepped forward, and she saw a cloud of pink near her dad.

It was their Defence Lawyer.

"Hem hem."

Xxx

_a/n Oops...who could that be? Ahahaha XD_

_I actually feel sorry for the Weasleys, but hey, I have let them cook in their soup for 21 chapter, so I think it's time to shake them a bit…_

_I would really appreciate your opinion on the chapter, as I haven't decided yet what to do with some side characters. I'd make a poll, but I don't want to feel like an idiot if no one would vote. If I make a poll, would you vote?_

_So yeah, let me know, ok? Thanks for reading! Waves!_


	23. The Joker

_a/n Hi!_

_I'm done with a new chapter, and I cannot wait to hear your opinion. I'm a sucker for your thoughts, and you know it. :)_

_Thank you so so much for the awesome feedback. I go through your thoughts and I get ideas that give the twists and turns to the story. I know how I want to end the story, but in between, I can always try different things. _

_I could wrap it up in 4-5 chapters, but I don't want to. I'll make it long XD_

_There is a new cover for the story_—_Thank you so much, Ibuzoo!_—_as I felt that Two Steps needed a cover that showed Hermione's and Voldemort's progress. Voldemort is not shadowed anymore and Hermione looks awesome XD_

_And Umbridge...Ahaha...Thank you! I couldn't let her sit on the bench. XD_

_I won't leave any loose ends, so no worries. Everyone will be given attention. I have so many POVs that chapters are slow, but I feel that if I remove the multiple POVs, the story would lose a lot._

_Dear Guest_—_thank you so much! I am not a fan of my older stories, but if you liked Colors, I'm glad. I find my writing style had changed too much to touch my other story_—_Unjust Peace_—_as I managed to bring it to a dead end, and now I don't want to touch it. I hope I won't make the same mistake with this story, and that is why I post the chapter only after it had been beta-ed by Serpent In Red. I don't trust my judgement at the moment._

_Kim_—_thank you! I hope it is different, and I hope you'll like what I have in store for our favorite characters._

_Tomione fan_—_ three days for over 7 thousand word beta-ed chapter is ok, or no? ;) Thank you!_

_I hope you'll enjoy my take on the court hearing XD_

_New cover: Ibuzoo_

_Beta: Serpent In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

**Horcrux Mine**

_xxx_

Chapter Twenty Three

The Weasleys …

The Weasleys were to show them all what a world ruled by insanely powerful and talented maniacs really looked like. It could happen to anyone now.

Lucius Malfoy was radiating happiness as he watched Dolores question that idiot Weasley girl, and he couldn't really blame him. If that was the defence, then he was the new Minister.

He would sell his soul to have such a career like Lucius. It had always been Malfoy who made him squirm in his seat or whose penetrating gaze he couldn't hold long, and he hated him for that. He hated that young, handsome, rich, successful, and talented blond wizard whose white teeth were now revealed in a pleased smile. He had not only power, he had women also. Malfoy had everything he didn't have anymore.

Malfoy had been on the right side all along. Sneaky, slippery snake.

Tearing his gaze from Malfoy and directing it at the figure that was leaning into the chair—Lord Voldemort—who was looking directly at him now, Cornelius Fudge shivered in fear before slowly bowing his head in respect.

He was afraid. If Malfoy made him feel like nobody sometimes, then Lord Voldemort simply horrified him. Lucius would be gone one day, and a new Minister would take his place. Lord Voldemort, however, was now forever, immortal, and there would be no other power but him.

The Dark Lord could do what he wanted as not one dared to challenge him.

Even Potter—_who didn't look very normal_—was sitting here, dressed in Slytherin colors and with Malfoy Junior as his company.

For a second, he thought he saw a flashback, and instead of Draco and Harry, there were Lucius and Bartemius. Barty Crouch Junior had been Lucius's good friend, and as he watched Potter suddenly laugh again at something Dolores asked, Fudge wanted to shake his head.

There were no normal people surrounding the Dark Lord.

_xxx_

Radix-Stem-Apex.

The basic rule for building Dark Arts spells could not be ignored when creating the rectangular rune for the Reflecting Mirror Charm.

He had cast the charm and raised the invisible wards as one could not be too paranoid.

Especially when dealing with filth like Weasleys.

While he didn't hate Arthur as much as Lucius did, it was so pleasurable to feel this power, to know that _they_ now decided who would go to Azkaban and who would not, that Rabastan Lestrange could not say "no" to destroying a bunch of blood-traitors.

He had sat here, on the same spot as the Weasel bitch, shackled to the chair and forced to listen to Crouch's speech telling him he would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban just seventeen years ago.

Considering he'd spent the thirteen of them in Azkaban and then three years out of law and normal life, he really loved his power now.

Rabastan smiled as he heard Potter laugh and put the controlled protocol away.

The wording in absolutely all documents had to be exact and precise—_like the Dark Lord demanded_—and all the court-related documents were now ready.

They—_Lucius_—could press new charges only when the documents had been approved by his Master.

It wasn't his business why his Lord wanted such exact wording.

His Lord was enjoying the show, leaning back in his regal-looking leather chair and drinking wine.

Rabastan would love to drink some wine, too, but instead he wet his lips with grape juice as he could not drink alcohol now. He wasn't Potter, and he couldn't allow himself to behave like a pig—_he had his flaws_—now.

Had Potter really no brains left?

The boy was now making a thin line of light-purple powder on the skirting of the seat between him and Draco, and Rabastan leaned forward to watch his Lord's reaction.

The Dark Lord was laughing silently, his dark-green clad shoulders shaking slightly, as he watched Potter take out a thin tube before loudly snorting the whole line in one go.

Rabastan watched with interest as Potter gathered the crumbs with a wetted finger and rubbed it into his gums.

_Idiot_.

One did not rub Euphoria into the gums.

It made them itch for at least a day.

Rabastan wasn't a junky, but he liked to relax.

Thirteen years he lived in horror, and now his time had come.

"Where is my Magic Cola? What kind of theatre is this?"

Rabastan had to hold a fist before his mouth to not laugh out loud as he watched Potter wave around with his hands, calling for waiters.

"What do you mean "calm down"? I am calm. Like a fucking iceberg."

Draco had been trying to calm the junky down, but it looked like Potter was too high to care about anything.

"Mister Potter, would you be so kind and remain silent during the process? That is, if you're capable."

Lucius addressed the Boy Wonder and Rabastan watched the Mudblood—_Hermione_—shake her head and purse her lips at Potter who was now lighting a cigarette.

"Whoa, no stress. All good. I'm silent like a grave."

Potter was smoking openly, and Rabastan raised his wand to stop the smoke from coming over to them. Even though he had cast the wards around them, he couldn't let anyone know.

He wasn't paranoid.

He was cautious.

If his Lord still hadn't said anything and just nodded at Lucius to continue, then who was he to tell Potter where to smoke and where not?

He was a wizard and he could take care of himself.

"Were you forced to pay for the services that Miss Weasley provided, Mister Mcmillan?"

Rabastan nodded at the question that Umbridge—_the defence attorney!_—had just asked their main witness, and he smiled when he remembered how he laughed with Malfoy when they came up with the plan.

It was such a good joke.

"Yes, Madam Umbridge."

This bitch simply did not learn. She could just hold her trap closed, but he knew she'd open it any minute.

Dolores Umbridge understood the language of Crucio only.

And Rabastan spoke it fluently.

"It's Madam Attorney Umbridge, Mister Mcmillan. Hem hem."

What did he say?

He saw Lucius wrinkle his nose, and he thought he heard his Lord sigh, but before he could understand if his Lord really did sigh heavily or was it his hearing, Potter had to open his mouth and share with the rest.

"My eleventh finger is a bigger attorney then you will ever be, and he still hadn't won any hearings against my hand."

Rabastan had to say the junky was funny even if he still hated him.

Potter was the reason his Master was delayed and he himself had spent a part of his life with dementors and four walls.

"Mister Potter, would you like to leave now?"

How Lucius had the patience to deal with him, Rabastan did not know. He guessed it could be related to the fact that Lucius did not spend any time in Azkaban the first time, like he should have done.

"Me? Merlin forbid, I am here to testify, Mister Malfoy. I will wait patiently."

Yes, Potter was the defence's witness, and he was picked by that loony girl's father—_Xenophilius Lovegood_—who was attempting to help the Weasleys from the press side—_it was such a joke, but it was funny to see them try_.

Rita Skeeter was helping their prosecutor—_Yaxley_—and Rabastan had to agree she was much better.

"Then do so."

Draco looked really uncomfortable with all the attention, and Rabastan saw him take out his wand.

Potter opened his mouth already to probably say something to which Lucius would have to react when Rabastan heard the voice of his Master.

"Harry."

The single word held enough warning in it for Potter to close his mouth. Dramatically holding a hand over his lips, he immediately sat down with his back straight.

_Fucking clown._

He was an example for those who wanted to lose themselves, to escape from reality.

While Rabastan had to agree he wasn't the sanest of the bunch—_he even went to the Mind Healer_—he wasn't anywhere near the level of craziness that Potter was displaying.

He watched Umbridge trying to destroy Potter with her imitation of a basilisk before a cough from Lucius made her move on with the questions.

"Mister Mcmillan, how do you feel now when you know of the actions of the Weasleys?"

Yaxley could sit back and draw paintings as it looked like Umbridge would do all the work for him.

Rabastan didn't know what kind of idiot asked to have that woman as the defence attorney.

Had Umbridge been his attorney, he would have already been kissed by dementors.

The boy would not be given Veritaserum no matter what, and while Yaxley could give him some water, Rabastan didn't see the need for such dramatics.

Mcmillan's word was enough, considering he himself was sitting on the Judge Tribune and not in the chair, shackled up.

The boy and his mother—Gaelia Mcmillan—showed eagerness unrivalled by others when they were offered the deal, and with the Unbreakable Vow, the truth would forever remain buried.

He didn't want to listen to the boy's blabbering, so Rabastan returned to his drawings.

Radix-Stem-Apex …

_xxx_

…

What?!

That little fuck!

How dare he?

He took a breath to calm his rage before he lost control and took a sip of the sweet wine.

The audacity, the insanity, and the brilliance were not lost on him, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter what he liked or disliked in this little piece of shit because he was going to kill him.

He just had to wait a bit.

_Less than an hour._

It had been a perfect plan, and it could have worked, and then the consequences would have been very unpleasant for his well-created world—_and him_.

He would, of course, survive, but the others wouldn't.

It would have been a nasty blow that would halt his success for some years, if not decades.

_Competent people were hard to find._

A Slytherin-worthy plan.

There were two things, though, that changed everything.

The boy did not know that Rabastan Lestrange was similar to Alastor Moody in regards to safety and didn't even take a piss before throwing a ward up.

Azkaban did leave traces, but if Rabastan wanted to throw safety—_runic_—wards around them when not in the manor, then why should he prohibit it?

Had it not been for the second reason, it would have been the only reason why the plan wouldn't have worked.

But the biggest mistake the boy made was to underestimate _him_.

He knew he was going to be here—_it was even a part of the plan_—and even though there were _some_ Occlumency walls around the well-thought plan, they were nothing to him.

_His most powerful magic was invisible._

He was the most powerful Legilimens in the world, and that said something.

And those pathetic attempts at Occlumency made him want to laugh.

So many emotions, so much pain, so much hate, and a brilliant mind close to insanity from grief.

He would wipe the floor with the boy's brains.

Taking out his wand, Voldemort silently raised the wards around all the tribunes and took over the charms on the hidden object.

If the boy wanted a bomb to go off, he'd find a better place to put it for the better good.

Yes, Lord Voldemort was the greater good now, and they better not forget about it.

He had to find something creative, something that would simultaneously push Hermione to break their "relationship".

He wouldn't actually allow her to humiliate herself and be a witness under Veritaserum—_he was her magical guardian_—and therefore, he needed to find something spectacularly evil for this ape and, therefore, horrify Hermione's compassionate heart and make her tell him she wished to be left alone.

And he'd grant her this wish.

She had to wish everything herself, he couldn't actually force her to do anything if he wanted his plan for her to work—_all by herself, in conscious and sane mind_.

They were halfway through, and Voldemort couldn't say he was disappointed.

It was time for some not-so-happy days. Hermione needed to understand what it would be like without him. She needed to see hell.

She needed to fall.

He would catch her, but not before she would almost feel the ground with her falling body.

Hermione needed to stop separating "Marvolo" and "Lord Voldemort".

He would not "dump" her, even if they had "sex only". He wanted Hermione to do it. She couldn't be a victim here.

His talented Mudblood wasn't the only one who read books on psychiatry.

It was a pity, but his fun had come to an end.

He was going to be dealing with Italy now, and he wouldn't have the time anyway.

Business before pleasure.

He was going to listen to this spectacle that meant so much to Lucius and all those who had been sentenced for being his servants. And then, he was going to surprise the mad inventor with something special.

Talk about special.

"Harry."

Harry was very interesting, so he would allow him to behave like he wanted. Let him make a fool of himself.

Harry _was_ special while Weasley was not.

If the redhead wanted fireworks, he'd give him fireworks.

_He'd find a place for the perfect hit._

He had one hour.

_xxx_

He closed his eyes as he swallowed hard. He was concentrating on his Occlumency shields, thinking about his sister and father, and not about the bomb with charms, hidden under an invisibility cloak and layers of spells near the tribune with the judges.

There was nothing to lose because his family would be destroyed soon, and if they had to suffer, he was going to make sure the bastards suffered as well.

His best invention was now hidden near Malfoy, Lestranges, and the rest of the Death Eaters, and soon ...

The hearing would last over three hours, and while he wanted to do it now, he had to wait and hear what they had planned for his family before casting the triggering spell and killing people.

In one hour.

He was going to blow up those motherfuckers and to hell with them all.

For Fred.

For his family.

For their world.

Sick fucks like Voldemort, Malfoy, Lestranges, Yaxley, and the rest of them sitting on the elevated dark-green tribune did not deserve to live.

So he, a Weasley, was going to destroy at least Malfoy and the Lestranges, and maybe, make Voldemort turn to a spirit again.

George Weasley wetted his lips as he looked at the maniacs.

_In one hour, I'm going to blow you all up._

_xxx_

Umbridge was fixing her tea—_again_—and Hermione wanted to tear the spoon from her hand and with a strike, impale it into one pale, twinkling eye.

A word "bastard" had an all new meaning when talking about Voldemort.

The toad did know the laws and had experience with trials, but …

Really?!

It was too mean even for him …

Hermione had to learn how to talk to Slytherins without ending with the short end of the bargain.

She had to call him "My Lord" now, and in return, she got Umbridge.

The prosecutor didn't need to do anything as that slippery bitch managed to harm Ginny and Mister Weasley the most.

Umbridge not only asked questions that were meaningless, but also abusive, dishonourable, and simply derogatory.

Why was Voldemort such a bastard?

And Harry …

Hermione did not want to touch the topic called "Harry" now, as she would explode from rage, and she needed to concentrate on the questions that Yaxley was now asking while Ginny was under Veritaserum.

It was an alternative version which didn't allow the person to say anything besides the answer, and it was the one used the most for the hearings.

"Have you ever imagined having sex with at least one person that you know you shouldn't have?"

All the questions Yaxley had been asking could be interpreted many ways, but the public heard only what they wanted to hear.

"Yes."

Well, who was she to judge?

"Are you a curious person, Miss Weasley?"

Who made up the question? Yaxley, Malfoy, or Voldemort?

"Yes."

"Did Mister Mcmillan pay for you in any way or form?"

Fucking lawyers who asked questions the perverse way.

Even if Mark had bought Ginny a butterbeer, Veritaserum would make Ginny say "yes".

"Yes."

"Did you act without anyone's knowledge?"

She knew.

What could she do to make Voldemort stop it?

Smiling bastard.

"No."

"Have you ever seen your father have sex with your older brother?"

What?!

"No."

"Have you slept with your father?"

…

Was there anyone sane and normal in Voldemort's ambience? They all knew that the Weasleys were innocent.

"Yes."

Of course she slept with her dad when he held her as a baby or read her books when older before bed. It wasn't a sexual question, but those perverts managed to turn it all upside down. Ginny and Mister Weasley were not perverts!

"What did your father call you when he slept with you?"

Hermione could not believe how low some could fall. Had Malfoy really no shame? Why did he hate Arthur Weasley so much?

It was Malfoy's question, judging by the barely-contained nasty smile directed at Mister Weasley, who was shaking in silent rage.

Malfoy already had to cast a Silencing Charm on him as when the prosecutor started to question Ginny, Mister Weasley couldn't keep quiet.

"My flower."

Hermione watched Ginny's running tears mirror on her father's face, and Hermione started to cry as well.

Her dad called her "sunshine".

_xxx_

Bellatrix was watching the show, and it was wonderful.

Malfoy might be a wuss, but he was good.

As she giggled at the question, she saw the Mudblood cry.

_Daddy's itty bitty girl._

_Wait…_

Oh yes … Yes, that was perfect!

A-haha-haaaa!

Lucius's question helped her find the answer she had been searching for.

Where to hit the Mudblood?

Especially now, when she understood that this shit had been with her Lord _somewhere _sunny. All alone.

She was Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, and she would make the bitch regret ever being born into their wonderful world.

_xxx_

How much more embarrassing could it get?

Draco watched Potter who was now making lines of powder on the parapet right in front of Umbridge with his tongue stuck out in concentration.

"Mister Potter, what is the meaning of this?"

Draco hated the ugly shit, even if they were on the same side. Umbridge just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Want some? You may turn out to be not such a sick bitch if you get high."

Draco didn't know if he was allowed to laugh out loud—_like his uncle was doing right now_—but just in case, he managed to hold it back before it escaped his lips as he watched the disbelieving face with wide eyes turn to his father.

"Minister Malfoy, drug possession and distribution are punishable by law. Surely Potter cannot be allowed to continue?"

Yeah, well, it didn't matter what the law said.

His father stood behind the insane amount of drug trafficking, and the Dark Lord allowed Potter to use the drugs where he wanted, so Draco failed to see what Potter had to do to get in Azkaban.

Luckily, Potter was respectful towards the Dark Lord and his father and mocked Umbridge only, so he was allowed to continue as long as he remembered whom he was addressing.

"Go on with the questioning, Dolores. Don't worry about things that do not matter for the case."

His father was smiling slightly as he watched Potter make a new line.

Questioning …

If Draco had to answer the same questions as the Weasley, he'd also look like a pervert.

His dad used to call him "Dragon", and his mom called him "Drakie".

_xxx_

"I am not taking Veritaserum. It's not good for my health."

Hermione was looking at Harry, who was leaning into the witness chair, and she wanted to kill him.

Him and Voldemort. And Malfoy.

"Harry."

Hermione pursed her lips at the voice and then at Harry, who with a suffering sigh, stuck out his tongue for the three drops of the truth serum.

Harry was a junky, and she had been a blind fish.

"Please state your name."

Yaxley had started with the questions, and Hermione knew nothing good would come out of it, judging by Harry's mad, green eyes.

How did she miss it?

"Harry James Potter."

"What House were you almost Sorted into at Hogwarts, Mister Potter?"

What? What did the "almost sorted" mean? Harry was a Gryffindor through and through.

"Slytherin."

Hermione saw most people watch Harry with wide eyes. She wasn't the only one surprised. The only one unsurprised was Voldemort, who was watching Harry closely.

"Do you feel betrayed by the Weasleys?"

"Yes."

Harry was under Veritaserum …

He still loved Ginny …

And she advised Ginny to give herself to another man.

She was cursed.

"Why were you Sorted into Gryffindor and not Slytherin?"

Yaxley's dirty-blond hair was near her, as he walked around the prosecution stand. Hermione already noticed how Yaxley loved to question while moving. Like a predator.

"I asked the Sorting Hat not to place me in Slytherin."

"And why is that, Mister Potter?"

Hermione saw Harry shake his head, not wanting to answer.

"I was told only bad wizards come from Slytherin."

Considering the crowd consisted mostly of Slytherins, the next question from Yaxley interested many.

"And who told you that, Mister Potter?"

Draco was gaping at the lazy figure of Harry, and Hermione wished to break his jaw.

Drug dealer Junior.

"Rubeus Hagrid and Ronald Weasley."

She had no words.

"The prosecution is ready for the defence to question the witness."

That was it? Voldemort—or Malfoy—had no more questions?

Hermione watched with a barely-restrained urge to kill as Umbridge straightened her pink dress and, with a nasty smile, approached Harry who was leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed.

"Mister Potter, have you broken any laws in the last month?"

Harry was sitting with his eyes closed, and Hermione didn't understand why. Why wasn't he looking at Umbridge at all?

"Yes. Better ask what I haven't broken. I don't have all day."

It looked like Harry had gotten the older version of Veritaserum that allowed one to add comments.

She didn't even need to guess why. She could see it on Voldemort's smirking face.

Bastard.

"Are you a drug addict?"

Yes, Hermione wanted to ask this as well.

"Very much so."

She'd have a nice, long chat with Harry.

"And where do you buy your drugs?"

And with Voldemort.

Hermione knew he was a monster, but she didn't know Voldemort was a drug dealer.

Malfoy then.

A bunch of true criminals, who should be sitting here, shackled to the chairs below and not leaning back and laughing from the raised tribune.

"How is that case-related? I don't buy them anymore. I get them for free."

"Who-"

"_Crucio!"_

Hermione almost screamed when Umbridge fell to the floor, thrashing in pain under Voldemort's favourite curse.

However, if there was one Crucio that she could enjoy …

"Ask the questions that are case-related. It isn't that hard, is it?"

It looked like Voldemort's patience was thin when dealing with Umbridge.

"Ahaha. Should have taken it when I was offering."

This junky was not Harry.

He was now leaning over the parapet of the witness stand and cheering at the thrashing body of Dolores Umbridge under Lord Voldemort's Crucio, and Hermione wished to cast one on Harry as well.

How could he have been so stupid?

Hermione didn't need to hear the question that Umbridge had wanted to ask. She already understood who provided Harry with everything.

Monsters.

The curse was lifted, and Umbridge managed to get up on her feet before bowing to Voldemort.

"I apologize, my Lord."

"Continue, Dolores."

Malfoy smiled before taking a paper from the stack and giving it to Yaxley.

"The defence has no more questions for Mister Potter."

Why was Harry called, if no questions had been asked?

If Voldemort wanted to make Harry look like an insane wizard and simultaneously add hate to the Weasleys, he managed well even without those questions. But Hermione saw a few pure-bloods look at Harry with raised eyebrows.

Harry was almost a Slytherin?

"Any witnesses you wish to call, Madam Attorney?"

Hermione watched Rita Skeeter quickly give Umbridge a list with notes, and a nasty feeling started to spread over her stomach.

"The defence calls for Hermione Granger."

_xxx_

Lucius was having the time of his life when he heard that idiot Umbridge call the name of the only person that was out of his control.

Considering his Master was the magical guardian, the Mudblood would not be able to answer any question without the Dark Lord's approval.

He watched the girl—_nice tan_—get up and proceed to the witness chair which was empty as Potter was now drinking something from a long thin orange glass, leaning onto his son.

It definitely wasn't water.

"Before you proceed, Madam Attorney, you should be aware that Miss Granger is under the Guardian Oath. She will not be able to answer anything without her guardian's approval."

Lucius smiled as he finished the sentence.

He saw many raise their eyebrows and lean forward. It was not a well-known fact that his Lord was the Mudblood's guardian.

And not only guardian, judging by the similar tan they both now had.

While his Lord wasn't as tanned as the girl, he wasn't as pale as he used to be. And the Mudblood's face and arms weren't the only places that were tanned to an almost golden colour; those long legs were also a shade darker than usual.

Interesting.

"The defence then calls for the guardian of Hermione Granger to join her at the witnessing stand."

And who was going to ask the questions from the prosecution?

Lucius was sure as hell _he_ wasn't going to question his Lord.

Yaxley better be careful with his wording.

Lucius prepared himself for an interesting show when his Lord simply got up from his chair and walked down to the witness stand, sitting casually into the chair next to the Mudblood.

To say the crowd was shocked would be an understatement.

And Umbridge …

Well, if she wanted to live, she'd have to control her tongue.

"Very well, Dolores. Ask away."

Lucius shared a smile with Rabastan after his Lord's approval at the now shivering figure of the toad before leaning forward and concentrating on the "questioning".

_xxx_

Ron was watching the two figures on the witness stand, and he wanted to die.

He wasn't the brightest of the bunch, but he wasn't an idiot.

But Voldemort told him himself there was nothing between them!

Ron saw Hermione lean to the bastard before she hissed something at him.

The hissing had been quiet, but he heard it, just like the rest of the crowd.

Where had she been this whole week and what had she been doing?

_xxx_

"_**I hate you so much!"**_

Yes, yes.

That was the plan.

Voldemort leaned back and crossed his feet before waving a hand at the attorney.

What a joke.

He really understood why Umbridge was hated by Lucius and Rabastan as much as by Potter and Granger.

Everyone wanted her dead, and everyone hoped she would asked him something that would make him kill her. Potter, Granger, Malfoys, Lestrange, and Weasleys all hoped for the same thing.

Talk about unity …

He'd have his fun, allowing Hermione to answer some questions that he had written himself and not allowing the others.

He wasn't a complete bastard to make his Mudblood look very bad.

And then, he'd start his own questioning.

_xxx_

"Please state your name."

"Hermione Jean Granger."

Hermione smiled as Umbridge looked at Voldemort before wetting her pink lips.

Hermione understood that Umbridge was truly afraid as she did not know what she was allowed to ask and what not.

Voldemort didn't tell the toad anything, and Hermione didn't know if she should feel a bit lighter or panic more.

The three drops of Veritaserum were poured onto her tongue, and Hermione wondered which version she had gotten.

"Have you ever done anything to endanger the lives of others?"

She wanted to say "yes", but somehow, no words came out.

The Oath …

"_Crucio!"_

Nice …

Hermione heard Harry bark in laughter and saw Malfoy and Lestrange share a smile.

"If I like the question, I will allow my charge to answer. If I do not like it, you'll feel it."

Hermione smirked inwardly as it took Umbridge some time to get up after the second Cruciatus, even if it lasted only a few seconds.

"Yes, my Lord."

Hermione saw Ron look at her from his place in the back row, and she wanted to jump up and run to him. To hug him and beg for forgiveness.

"Have you known about Miss Weasley's actions?"

Hermione saw Voldemort's wand lit purple, and her mouth opened on itself.

"Yes."

She got the version that did not allow additional comments.

Shit.

Molly was gaping at her, and Hermione wanted to hide her face in shame.

"Are you involved in the prostitution as well?"

Hermione smiled slightly when another Cruciatus flew towards the bitch.

Maybe Voldemort wouldn't be a complete bastard?

_xxx_

How to ask the questions?

While the Oath allowed his Lord to control all the questions, he still didn't want to find out which questions were wrong like Umbridge.

She was now enjoying her seventh Crucio, and it didn't look good for the stupid bitch who couldn't control her hate towards the Mudblood. Even his Lord's presence didn't make her pink brains work.

He had to be respectful and ask normal questions—_unlike with the Weasleys_—and he wasn't looking forward to it.

It's been a long time since he'd last behaved in the courtroom.

Looking over the questions given to him by Malfoy, Alexander Yaxley sighed heavily, as he straightened his dark-green tie.

It was hard to be him.

_xxx_

"Miss Granger, are you comfortable?"

Ron was looking at the well-dressed wizard who was now going to question Hermione, and then he looked at Voldemort who was sitting close to Hermione, leaning back in his chair and holding up his wand with purple light.

No one could be comfortable when he was so near.

"Yes."

Ron watched as Harry lit up another cigarette, and he wanted one as well.

"Do you live in Britain?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"In Venice."

"You're studying to be a Spells Architect at Illuminus University of Magic, is that correct?"

Purple light.

"Yes."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Purple light.

"Yes."

Come on, everyone knew Hermione and knowledge were meant for one another!

Couldn't Voldemort think up a better question?

"Have you ever been to Nepal?"

Ron saw Hermione's head turn to face Voldemort and witnessed the small smile on the Dark Lord's refined, smooth face.

Purple light.

"No."

_But … but you told me yourself, Hermione. Did you lie to me?_

"You have a wonderful tan, Miss Granger. Where did you get it, if I may ask?"

Hermione was now holding her hands together, her thumbs rubbing each other.

She was really nervous now.

"You may, Yaxley."

Ron saw Hermione close her eyes, and he saw her lips tremble.

"Where have you been, Hermione?"

"In Goa."

What? What kind of university trip could be in Goa?

"Were you alone, Miss Granger?"

"That is not case-related, Yaxley!"

Ron heard Harry shout, but the wand in Voldemort's hand was lit purple again.

"No."

"Were you there with a male acquaintance or a female acquaintance?"

"I protest!" Harry was shouting from his place and Ron saw the Ferret try and calm him.

"Shut up, Harry."

Voldemort's one sentence was enough for Harry to glare at Yaxley before sitting back into his chair.

Ron needed to know the answer. He wasn't an idiot; he saw the similar tan on Voldemort, and he needed to hear what he had been so afraid to think of.

A purple light.

"Male."

Ron didn't want to look at Hermione as she was now looking at him, so he directed his gaze at the Judge Panel, where Malfoy and Lestrange were whispering to one another.

He wasn't the only one who had connected the dots.

"Who were you with?"

_Tell me, just tell me, Hermione. Just stop lying!_

"Next question, Yaxley."

Why didn't he let Hermione say his name out loud? Why did he stop his Death Eater?

"Yes, my Lord. Miss Granger, how are your relationships with your professors? Any problems?"

Why did Hermione have a panicked look in her eyes at the question?

Purple light.

"No."

"Have you had any problems with any of your university professors?"

What was the bastard asking? Yaxley asked only shit questions when his sister and dad had been questioned, but what he was asking Hermione wasn't case-related at all.

Why was Hermione suddenly so nervous?

Purple light.

"Yes."

"And where is this professor now?"

It looked like only Hermione and Voldemort knew what this was about as even Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters looked confused. Yaxley was reading from a paper, and it looked like no one knew what was going on.

"Dead."

Silence.

Dead? Why was her professor dead, and why did Hermione look ready to faint?

"And how did the professor die?"

Hermione had her eyes closed, and Ron had a bad feeling about it.

Purple light.

"She was tortured to insanity."

Well …

Considering that Voldemort tortured Umbridge seven times for asking the wrong questions, it shouldn't be a surprise that he tortured the professor as well.

"By the Dark Lord?"

Yaxley was looking at the wand tip of Voldemort's bone-white wand, fully expecting a Cruciatus to fly at him, and even Ron saw the prosecutor breathe out in relief when the wand lit up in purple instead.

"No."

What? Who then …

No … no, no, no!

_You did not kill your professor, Hermione!_

_What is wrong with you and Harry?!_

What was wrong with everyone?!

"Have you recently changed the locks at your Venice apartment?"

Ron's heart fell into his stomach as he understood everything.

Hermione changed the locks for him. And the questions were also meant for him.

Purple.

"Yes."

She was now looking at him with tears in her brown eyes, and Ron didn't know what he wanted.

_xxx_

He could allow his Mudblood to make a fool of herself, but it would be too much.

She was ready to attack him with her tiny fists, and he couldn't allow it.

He may enjoy her violent side when they were alone, but here, in front of his Death Eaters and cameras, he'd have to punish her so hard that she'd probably forget her name for a while.

"Enough, Yaxley."

Alexander bowed before going back to his seat, and Voldemort had to actually push Hermione from the witness chair and towards her place as the girl looked ready to collapse from the nerves.

Voldemort got up as well, and lightly twirling his wand, he addressed the public.

"We will let our hard-working Law Enforcement take a break. I will ask the questions for the next witness myself."

He saw Malfoy's now panicked eyes look over the papers, and then Rabastan was quickly turning the files, looking for the part that wasn't there.

He didn't care about their reaction as he was now looking at the insane eyes that widened in realisation.

"Prosecution calls for George Weasley."

_xxx_

He knew.

Voldemort knew about the bomb, and as George quickly cast the activation spell, nothing happened.

He had no control over his own invention, and now Voldemort wanted him to be a witness under Veritaserum.

He had failed.

What had he done?

xxx

"I need to piss."

He hated him.

Why did _he_ have to deal with him?

"Well, you'll have to wait, Potter."

He couldn't just take Potter, get up, and _leave_.

In front of everyone, especially now when George Weasley was called by the Dark Lord himself.

It would be interesting to know why this Weasley interested the Dark Lord, and Draco wanted to see it.

"Can't."

_Fuck you, Potter! Fuck you!_

"Harry, go where you need to go."

_Thank you, my Lord._

"Gee, thanks. We don't want me pissing all over the place, do we?"

He would never take drugs again.

_Dad was right._

"Piss off, Harry."

_Ahahaha._

Draco watched as Potter got up and, on unsteady legs, ran towards the exit before disappearing in the doorway, and then the doors closed.

"George Weasley."

The Dark Lord was standing on the spot where the prosecution was represented, and Draco shivered when he thought about how it must feel like to be George Weasley now. The biggest problem for Weasley was not even the fact that the Dark Lord was brilliant. It was first and foremost that he was also the most powerful Legilimens in the world, and Draco had felt it on himself every time in the Dark Lord's presence.

He knew which questions to ask.

He knew everything he needed to know before you even understood it.

"Yes."

So it wasn't Fred.

He could never tell the difference. It wouldn't be really a shock if they decided to fool the world for the last time and swapped identities.

"Are you afraid, George? I'll call you 'George' because there are just too many Weasleys around. I hope you don't mind."

The Dark Lord was slowly walking while he talked, and Draco marvelled at the dark-green robe and the lightly shimmering black vest. Who made them for the Dark Lord? He'd have to ask his father as it was probably one of his own tailors.

He'd have to order a few for himself.

Was it velvet? He liked velvet. The smoother, the better.

"Yes."

"Yes, you are afraid, or yes, too many Weasleys?"

Everyone in Slytherin should have a mandatory class with the Dark Lord on how to be articulate.

"Afraid."

He would also be. Who wouldn't be?

He wasn't including Potter—_too high and crazy_—and Granger—_well, well, well_—but everyone else would be afraid.

"You should be."

Whoa, what did Weasley do?

And he didn't say "whoa".

"All of you are sitting now in your chairs, looking at George and your Lord, and you don't know that you would've been dead already."

What? It cannot be! What was the Dark Lord saying?

Draco looked at his father to see him whisper—talk with his uncle urgently.

They also did not know.

"George Weasley has brought a gift with him today, to this very Ministry main courtroom where we sit. And what did George Weasley do with the gift?"

Merlin!

It had to be a joke. It could not be what he was thinking it was.

George Weasley?

"I placed it under the far corner of the Judge's Tribune, under an invisibility cloak and twelve different charms and spells."

He could hear his breathing in the silence that followed the words.

Before Draco could panic, he felt his father's gaze on him.

"Your plan was good, George. Very good, and I almost applaud you for your attempt. It would have worked, really, it would have, had it not been for me. I, Lord Voldemort, cannot be fooled. I cannot be tricked or cheated. I see and know everything."

Merlin, was it good to be on the correct side.

"And you certainly cannot hide a bomb from me."

Fucking Weasley!

Fucking shit wanted to kill his father! _His father?!_

Draco would kill this Weasley with pleasure now. He looked at the white, shocked faces of the public and then at his father who now looked completely serious as he watched Arthur Weasley thrash silently in his chair.

"You brought a bomb and you wanted to blow it up in this courtroom. Who did you want to kill?"

_Share with us, Weasel._

"Lucius Malfoy, Rabastan Lestrange, Alexander Yaxley, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Amelia Greengrass—"

Draco stopped listening even before more than one third of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were named, and he had to bite his tongue when he heard the last name.

"—Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Balls of steel.

He had nothing to lose, but still …

"Gryffindors. So brave, so boastful before you show them reality. You don't think and you behave irrationally."

The Dark Lord was standing straight as he looked at George Weasley.

Even Draco was afraid, and he wasn't sitting in that chair.

"How about I tell you that I would punish your family for everything you say and do, and then you tell me who else you want to kill. I didn't hear the last name right, I think. I am correct in my thinking, aren't I, George?"

Oh man, it was going to be bad.

"I want to kill _you_, Lord Voldemort."

Very bad.

Weasleys, all of them, had no chance now.

While before, there was a way for some, now …

Draco wasn't sure his children would ever hear that last name.

Only in the books written by the Dark Lord's followers.

It would have been sad had Weasley not tried to kill his father. If there was one person who Draco would do anything for, it was his dad.

And George tried to kill him.

_Father is right. The Weasleys are scum._

And Malfoys did not tolerate scum.

_xxx_

Cold water helped to clear his thoughts, and the empty bladder didn't have his full attention anymore.

All Harry was able to think about was how much he wanted to Cruciate Umbridge himself. The rage wanted a way out, and Harry didn't know what to do.

He might be insane, and he might be a snapped junky, but he was still Harry Potter, and he did not give up that easily.

He couldn't Cruciate Umbridge in front of anyone.

But maybe, if he asked Tom for a favour …

Harry took out the pills and swallowed a handful before sitting on the floor.

If Tom missed him, he could come and get him.

He wasn't going to sit there and watch this joke if he could sit here and watch the ceiling.

It couldn't get worse.

_xxx_

Bill wiped Fleur's sweaty forehead before kissing her on the cheek.

He was supposed to be with his family, watching that joke trial, but his wife was giving birth to their daughter, and he couldn't leave Shell Cottage.

Soon, there would be a new Weasley in the world, and Bill wanted nothing more but for her to be happy.

His daughter.

Everything would be all right.

They were Weasleys, and they would survive.

No matter what, today was going to be a good day.

He was going to be a dad soon.

They would name her Victoria.

_xxx_

"And that is what I am going to do. Do you like it?"

The tender lips were curled in a cruel smile that revealed white, straight teeth.

Hermione sat on the floor, crying openly, as she leaned with her back onto the sofa.

Voldemort had just shared his plans for today, and Hermione had never felt more horrible than she did now.

She was such a stupid, blind piece of a whore!

Where were her brains, where was her conscience, where was her soul?

This monster could not be her lover.

"I never want to touch you again. I don't want to see you. I hate you!" Hermione screamed, and she knew that had it not been for the wards around the private cabinet, it could have been heard everywhere.

It was hard to breathe.

She had known all along what kind of monster he was, but this was just too much.

_And she loved him?!_

"Is that what you truly wish?"

Voldemort was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, and Hermione hated his handsome face with elegant eyebrows and smart, pale eyes.

"Yes. Fucking yes! I hate you!"

_Hit me, do something, just stop staring!_

"You're repeating yourself, my sweet."

_I am not your sweet!_

Suddenly, her hair was captured by an elegant hand in a hard grip and twisted up. The tender lips were brutal in their kiss as they suddenly attacked, and then he just let her go and stepped back.

"Very well, Hermione. Your wish will be granted. We are adults, aren't we?"

Hermione saw him smile lightly at her before he turned around, the dark green robe twirling, and left the private room, closing the door quietly behind him.

She wanted to talk to him, and therefore, when the lunch break came—_monsters loved their food_—Hermione managed to get Voldemort to herself and beg him to let George and the rest of the Weasleys live.

She didn't know that their conversation would turn this way or that she would scream at him in hate. Hermione sat on the floor and she felt empty.

It was for the greater good.

_xxx_

_a/n Smiles. Did I surprise you? I hope I did. Can you guess what happens next? Grins..._

_All your thoughts are greatly appreciated, as I alway find inspiration in your comments. The poll I'll put with the next chapter, and thank you guys for letting me know! You're all awesome! Waves!_


	24. Revelations

_a/n Hi!_

_There is a bigger a/n at the end of the chapter._

_This chapter is not as big as the last one, but for me, it's very important. Voldemort is such an amazing character to write, and I love showing his POV, so in this chapter, his POV is the main one, and not Hermione's. Hermione's POV will be in the next one :)_

_Thank you for the amazing reviews! I really love your feedback, and it makes me happy- as a writer- to know that what I do with my time is appreciated._

_I'm quick, but I need pauses. Once a week?_

_The biggest thank you to Serpent In Red. _

_All mistakes you may find are mine._

_Beta: Serpet In Red_

_xxx_

**Two Steps From Hell**

_xxx_

**Horcrux Mine**

Chapter Twenty Four

"Who is the _whale_?"

Dolohov's nasal voice filled his ears, and Lucius wanted to smack him.

Was he slow on purpose?

"Who do you think? Molly Weasley."

If there was one Death Eater who managed to almost always get on his nerves, it was Antonin Dolohov.

He wasn't a complete idiot, and he was an accomplished Dueling Master. However, it didn't matter what Dolohov had been before Azkaban. He had been sentenced to a lifetime for the brutal murder of Fabian and Gideon Prewett and spent thirteen years there, in the company of totally insane Rodolphus and the not-there Bellatrix. The only one "sane" cellmate had been Rabastan Lestrange.

Weirdos surrounded him, and Lucius shuddered at the thought that he himself was the sanest of them all.

Dolohov wasn't that bad but just rubbed him the wrong way, and Lucius had to hold himself from losing his temper again. Lately, it had become more difficult to hold his emotions in grip, and he knew he needed a break.

He had no idea who would be dealing with the Italian Ministry as Lucius already had the French and the British Ministries, Gringotts, the financial market, and the black market …

He felt like a horse sometimes.

He _was_ a workaholic, and he couldn't just sit home and watch the magnificent garden with purple flamingos.

_Must remember to contact the seller of the new pair._

They were beautiful.

Lucius shook his head lightly to chase away the crazy thoughts and straightened his silky hair that was tied with a black ribbon.

He needed a vacation. _Urgently_.

That schmuck Weasley couldn't have chosen a worse time. Italy was just around the corner, and he needed to be fit both mentally and physically.

He needed a spa day.

And a massage.

He needed to sleep on lavender-smelling pillows and dream happy dreams.

"Will we press charges?"

Rabastan had to ask because Molly Weasley's son tried to assassinate Lord Voldemort—_the ruler of the Magical Union_— and them.

Technically, the rest of the Weasleys were innocent and did not have to be prosecuted.

The fact that more than a third of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would have been killed did not help the Weasleys in the eyes of society now, and Lucius knew that the family of rats would have a wonderful life even outside of the prison with Dementors.

Everyone around this oval table full with delicious food—_he had been to Azkaban_—in the Ministry's restaurant—_3 Michelin stars_—would be dead.

He could have died.

Draco, too, maybe.

Had his Lord not been present, he would have died, and Lucius didn't want to even think about it.

There were just too many emotions involved, and he didn't like it. How did he allow something like this to happen?

How did a mere twenty-year-old boy manage to bring a magical bomb into the courtroom and not one of the Excubitores noticed it?

_Never let others do what you should do yourself._

He needed to up the security and safety measures and not rely on people like Dolohov.

Lucius still did not know what the Dark Lord had planned for George Weasley as it was lunchtime now—_delicious meat so tender, and the sauce was simply mouth-watering_—and Lucius put his fork away to take the crystal glass with wine.

He wasn't Rabastan.

It was hard to drink with the youngest Lestrange.

Rabastan was a brutal, hungry, insane pig who forgot all manners when he drank, while when Lucius drank, he became very _flirty_ with females, pissing off Narcissa, and that was why he had never drunk on official parties or gatherings.

Well, not _never _…

Still, even if he drank, he had to go home.

And he liked it peaceful.

He might have wild tendencies, but home was important for Lucius.

So he preferred not to see Rabastan when he was drunk.

Lestrange had not been his friend before, but somehow, during this year, Lucius started to actually like the youngest brother. Barty had been the best, but alas …

_Fudge_.

His time was coming. Soon, it would knock on his door with a silver snake-headed cane.

Let Fudge watch him from his back table, close to the toilets and exit.

Lucius _was_ a star now.

Their propaganda—_both British and French_—was doing miracles, and more and more people were joining their cause. There were so many foreigners in London that Lucius had to concentrate to hear English in the crowds.

Well, it wasn't _that_ bad …

As long as they were magical, _and if they weren't Mudbloods…_

Drinking with Rabastan was not on his schedule as it was damaging to his health and mind, so Lucius put the goblet away from the hungry green eyes that couldn't help but watch his glass.

"No."

Dolohov was staring in him—_without blinking_—and Lucius wished to take the golden fork— _it was his Ministry and he had standards_— and stick it into one insane eye.

_Or both, if I use the golden knife as well._

One did not talk while chewing and one did not stare at people while they ate.

"Why not?"

Dolohov didn't have to sit with them, but he was an Inner Circle Death Eater, and Lucius couldn't just throw him out.

Pity.

Why no charges?

_Because._

He didn't know why.

No charges against the Weasleys. That was what his Lord had said.

Only the already existing charges were pressed, and so only Ginny and Arthur Weasley were up for debate.

He would put Arthur in Azkaban and boot Ginevra out of Hogwarts and then sell her on the black market. He knew a few buyers who were interested in perverted porn stars with a published portfolio.

And the money for published products was also his—_the Ministry's_— now.

_Pornography was very profitable._

"And the bitch?"

_Oh, Rabastan, is that interest I see?_

"And what about her?"

They were sort-of-friends, and they worked a lot together, but they were competitors.

_He_ was the favourite one now.

His Lord had said that there was no need to press any charges against Molly Weasley, and no charges would be pressed.

It was one of the two: either the Mudblood worked hard—_now that he knew …_—or the Dark Lord had something in store for the whale.

The Dark Lord was definitely going to kill George, but what he would do with a bomb—_he knew he would use it, but where?_—was a mystery to Lucius.

"I'll take her."

Lucius looked at everyone's raised eyebrows, and then at Lestrange Junior.

"Will you really?"

Arthur was his, but he didn't want to share a Weasley. He wanted to control them both and put the score near his name.

If Lestrange wanted, he'd get the girl because he was the second favourite now, and Lucius had to share even if he wanted to claim all redheads as his prey.

They tried to kill him.

Cutting the tender mean—_a buffalo_—Lucius tried not to think that this could be his last meal. He was mortal. And he almost died.

It was disconcerting.

_xxx_

"Do you sleep with him, Hermione?"

Hermione was looking at Harry with pursed lips as he refused to move.

"Give me all your drugs, Harry."

Hermione's voice wasn't quivering, but Harry could see she was shaken.

What had Voldemort done now?

"Who are you kidding here, Hermione? We both know it's useless. I won't give you anything, so just don't lie or evade the question. Do you fuck with Voldemort?"

Hermione looked ready to cry, and Harry closed his eyes with a shaking hand.

He smelled lies, and Hermione simply stank.

He needed a dose.

Of everything.

_xxx_

It was brilliant.

The strongest Slytherin treat was the ability to adapt, and he was the Slytherin, so it wasn't a problem to shift his plans a bit as the result would be worth his time.

He had planned on sending the bomb over to Shell Cottage and blow up the whole happy little family—_it was evil, but he wasn't Dumbledore_— of annoying redheads—_he even shared his plans with Hermione and totally horrified her gentle heart_—but somehow, his plans had changed.

It had been Harry who had approached him directly after Hermione—_he really should make hours of visitation_—and Voldemort could not say "no" to an amazing opportunity that offered itself on a silver plate.

Voldemort took a sip before he looked at Harry, who was pacing in front of him, and put the glass with Magic-Cola away. He tried it, and it was not bad, but he wasn't a fan.

He preferred the bitter one with sizzling bubbles.

Harry was now sober as Voldemort refused to deal with a junky when they talked about important matters, and it definitely looked that Harry wasn't enjoying it.

And there were a few spells that worked even better than sobering potions.

"I won't do it. I am not a murderer!"

There was no need to shout.

What was it with Gryffindors and shouting?

"And how had you been planning on finishing our disagreement, Harry? By singing me a lullaby?"

Hypocrites, all of them.

"Don't compare yourself and George! You're a maniac and a murderer, but George is not! And you killed my parents!"

He would Cruciate Harry, but the opportunity was just too good to miss.

"George planned on detonating a magical bomb, killing more than half of the people present in the large auditorium. The fact that I stopped him does not mean he's not murderer material. Use your brains, Harry. I won't let him go no matter what. I am offering you a fair deal, don't you think?"

Rabastan would never tell even his brother about the wards, and Voldemort would talk to his Death Eater later.

No one needed to know that there had been a safety net.

The bomb would have exploded, but it would have damaged not the Judge Tribune, but the other tribunes.

Voldemort had wanted to let it blow up—_it would be interesting to watch_—but then the damage would have been too big.

Too many powerful levers would be buried too early.

"How is it fair?! I cannot kill George!"

Potter was shaking in rage—_and withdrawal already_—and Voldemort had to close his eyes as he imagined how Harry would react later when he would remove all the drugs from Potter's addicted hands. He needed a soldier, not a clown.

"Then don't. I don't have all day to sit here with you and listen to your moaning. If you don't kill Weasley, I'll give him to all those he wanted to kill, but before doing so, I'll send the bomb to Shell Cottage, killing everyone inside. How about that?"

He saw Harry jump at him before the grey shoes left the floor, and Voldemort grabbed his throat with a wandless, non-verbal spell.

Mad with grief and depression, the green eyes were somehow empty, and there was no spark, like before. The fire was missing.

And he knew how to ignite fire.

It was his element, after all.

Looking at Harry— _who was struggling to breathe_—he wondered how long it would need to shape him. Harry was a hair away from the abyss, and he would remove the hair. Harry would be fully —_irreversibly_— damaged and broken.

His.

That was why he had never taken drugs. Even when he was young, he had not taken drugs because he couldn't allow himself to lose control like that.

Voldemort refused to lose control to some powder or pills and turn into the creature that Potter resembled now.

No drugs and no uncontrolled consummation of alcohol.

He didn't depend on anything.

Power was his drug, and Voldemort did not need any other.

He was going to kill the Weasley, but not himself.

He'd let Harry do it.

Wasn't he merciful?

xxx

"Dad, I am afraid."

Ginny whispered to her father as the jury returned, but Voldemort and Harry were still missing.

"Ginny, my girl, you are strong. Don't give up, my flower."

His father's face was pale and his eyes were full with tears, but love shone at her, and Ginny wanted nothing more but to hug her daddy and fall asleep to awake to a normal world.

Through the tears, Ginny saw Harry and Voldemort enter, and judging my Harry's mad eyes, she would need all her strength.

_xxx_

"Arthur Weasley, you are found guilty in charges of procuring prostitution, spreading pornography, and tax evasion."

George could only watch Malfoy read his father's verdict with a smile on a nasty face, and he wanted to die. He knew that he'd soon be reunited with his twin, but he couldn't wait for it.

He had failed and made everything worse for his family.

He needed Fred.

"You are sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban."

No …

_Dad …_

"Ginny Weasley, you are found guilty in charges of prostitution and pornography. You are to be expelled from Hogwarts, and unless you wish to join your father in Azkaban, you will be given to a new guardian, whose morality and good faith cannot be questioned."

What?! Who was going to be his little sister's guardian?

"The jury found the Weasleys unfit parents who use their children for making profit and raised them all without any morality and good faith. Ginny Weasley is no longer officially a daughter to Molly and Arthur Weasley, and her life will now be in reliable hands."

_Die, Malfoy! Die!_

"The new guardian of Ginevra Weasley will be Rabastan Lestrange."

_I am so sorry, little one._

"George Weasley, you are found guilty for attempting to assassinate the Dark Lord, the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Head of the Law Enforcement, the Head Excubitor, and the main prosecutor of the Ministry of Magic."

_Fuck you all._

"You're sentenced to death."

_xxx_

If he didn't do it, George would be tortured by every name he had called. George would be tortured on a daily basis, from morning till dawn by anyone who wished to try his or her hand.

Or wand.

He said Dolohov loved to torture men.

And Harry didn't want to imagine what that meant.

_George._

Fred and George.

The twins.

Ron and Ginny would hate him, he knew. And Molly's reaction was one that Harry didn't want to imagine, but Hermione …

She could be the only one who could understand it.

_She knew Voldemort._

And the bomb …

It would blow up Shell Cottage, killing Bill and Fleur, who was pregnant.

And George would see it all before his own tortures and eventual death.

Harry didn't want to think, but he couldn't take any drugs as until he fired off a Killing Curse towards George, Harry was not allowed to use anything.

If he broke that rule, he'd be banned from the drug market, and Harry didn't want that.

Spare George and damn himself or damn George and spare himself?

Let Voldemort do it.

_xxx_

Molly could not move from the terror, and as she opened her mouth to scream, she found out she couldn't.

She couldn't move, just like the rest of her family, who could only stare at one another in horror.

"After a long consideration, I have decided that the honour to kill the one who tried to assassinate me, your Lord, and your government, should befall on someone special."

The Dark Lord was sitting in his large, spacious chair, and he was looking at Harry, who sat with his eyes closed.

"Show everyone what happens to those who defy me. Show them, Harry. Make me proud."

_Dear Merlin, please, please, stop it. Please save my children._

If she could wail, she would.

"Harry, no!"

Molly heard the scream and watched Hermione fall unconscious into her chair before she was Portkeyed away.

What had Hermione done to herself?

Molly wasn't blind or stupid, and as she sat here, crying with her family, unable to leave the room, she thought about Hermione, too.

Molly refused to look at Voldemort as a man, but even she had to admit he looked good.

Hermione was a young girl who liked famous boys.

First Victor, then Harry, and now …

Molly's mouth opened in a silent scream when, suddenly, Harry took out his wand and shouted.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

_xxx_

He saw Harry take out his wand, and he wanted to hug him in gratitude.

_Thank you, little brother._

He thought he saw the small nod, and then, he heard the words.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light sped towards him, and George smiled.

_Hi, Freddy._

_xxx_

Draco let go of the chair he had been gripping when the lone clapping filled the large, silent room after the body of George Weasley leaned over his chair and fell onto the floor with a thud.

"Harry, Harry. Welcome to the dark side. You may have your cookie now and eat it."

And then the Dark Lord started laughing.

_xxx_

Hermione woke up to the familiar scent, and she put her nose deeper into the pillow, breathing in the smell she loved.

Marvolo.

With a lightning strike to her brain, Hermione jumped up in the bed and looked around.

She was at her apartment.

With tears in her eyes, Hermione threw the pillow onto the floor as she remembered that it smelled of this monster that killed not only adults but unborn children as well.

It was the last strike when he had told her lightly how he'd greet the unborn girl with fireworks, as he laughed at her tears and caressed her hair in mocking understanding.

She needed to find Harry and Ron and understand what had happened.

She needed to face the reality.

_xxx_

"So, you see, it isn't really about who is right or who is wrong. It's all about who is the last one standing."

The wind blew, and he had to lift the edges of the cloak so that they wouldn't get dirtied in _that_.

"You don't look so well. Having trouble sleeping?"

The moon was full and there was enough light to see the shimmering lake with silent waves.

_Beautiful_.

"Come on, don't be so unfriendly. Don't hurt my feelings."

He opened the bottle with a loud bang, and the foamy bubbly liquid filled two glasses.

"Here, I brought you a glass of champagne, too. Our Harry is all grown up."

Champagne was the best. The bubbles were so light but sizzling that he couldn't help but smile after finishing his tall glass.

"... and then I sent the bomb to the joke shop. I wanted to deliver it to Shell Cottage, but even I cannot always have what I want. Unfair, don't you think?"

His companion's tall glass was still full. Voldemort frowned before taking the full glass, and he tilted it to the side, allowing the sparkling liquid to run down in thin creeks before not one drop was left in the glass.

"Tasty? It's my favourite. It's called Illuminatum Tenebris. Made especially for me as a small token in the honour of the first year's celebration."

Lord Voldemort got up from his half-crouching position on the stone and straightened up before taking the bottle with a Dark Mark on it, and placing it carefully between the two hands.

_It wasn't as easy to unclench them as it looked_, Voldemort thought when he heard a crack.

Oops.

"My sincerest apologies, Albus. I don't usually dig graves, so you'll have to forgive my clumsiness. But I'll leave you the bottle; take better care of it than you did with the Elder wand. Maybe we'll drink it again in a few hundred years. Don't go anywhere."

He'd need to change the cloak as the edges managed to somehow find themselves in the contents of the decaying body.

He didn't want to bring any parts of Albus Dumbledore back home.

"I'll give your best regards to Harry and Hermione."

The Preservation Charms had been removed last time—_when he had found an Elder Wand_—and he had done it not only because he could but also because only he—_Lord Voldemort_—would be the only one who would remain the same forever, who would not age.

And Albus Dumbledore would disappear fully one day, turning to dust.

With a swish of his wand, the tomb started to close, and nothing indicated anymore that only a few minutes ago, Lord Voldemort had been sitting on the elevated tomb stone above Albus Dumbledore's resting place, with his leather shoes on the casket, pouring the champagne into the corpse's mouth.

The full moon was illuminating the white tomb and Lord Voldemort cast a final look at it before Apparating away.

What a good day.

_xxx_

He was squatting near the figure on the floor, his lightened bone-white wand held above the head with brown hair.

Ten minutes had passed since he arrived here, and with a heavy sigh, he put his wand away.

It was useless.

The Muggle was brain dead, and there was nothing he could do.

For the last ten minutes, he—_Lord Voldemort_—had been trying to restore the damaged mind, but he had come too late from his _get-together_ with Albus.

Bellatrix's Cruciatus was secondary to his only, and five minutes under the curse had been too much for a Muggle.

Fuck.

Voldemort had never cursed, but today, it had been first that idiot boy with a bomb that could have killed all his best Death Eaters, and now it was his own follower who had managed to seriously damage his plans.

"Do you understand what I am going to do to you, Bella?"

Bellatrix had been sitting in the corner, shaking in fear and realisation that she had crossed an invisible line and that she might not survive this night.

Voldemort pinched his nose as he thought about what to do.

The situation turned from perfect to simply catastrophic, and for the first time in a year, Lord Voldemort was confused.

He did not know what to do now.

How to win from a situation like this?

Bella had managed to kill Hermione's mother and brain-damaged the father, and Voldemort smashed a vase on the table in silent rage.

He had removed all the wards around the house when he arrived, and while the wards had been good, Bellatrix managed to get in without alerting anyone but him.

The wards around the Muggles were Hermione's, but the alert ward was his.

And he had waited before coming over to the other side of the world—_he was a busy man_—but those ten minutes had cost him a lot when a lever of incredible power was destroyed too early and unintentionally used against him.

All his near-future plans for Hermione were smashed, and it would be very hard to pull off his original plan.

_He'd have to adapt._

He couldn't make Hermione feel what she needed to feel to the point where her soul started to tear apart, if she would be insane or if she refused to return to him.

The problem with Horcruxes was that it was impossible to reassemble them without feeling regret; there was no spell or ritual that allowed him to collect them otherwise.

Only regret could make the parts of his soul return to him, and Voldemort could not feel regret.

But Hermione could.

He wanted to bring her to the highest possible "up" point—_ he wasn't anywhere near being done yet_—and then, he'd let her see all she had done, with a conscious and sane mind.

_Intentionally or not did not matter,_ Voldemort thought as he straightened his green tie in the reflection of one photograph on the wall.

He needed her to feel regret—_as he himself couldn't_—and when she felt it, he'd use their connection and pull the Horcruxes to him.

Hermione needed to feel regret so powerful that it would tear her soul apart, and therefore, Voldemort knew he had to bring Hermione to impossible heights before throwing her down into the abyss.

She killed a part of his soul—_he did not forget about the Hufflepuff Cup_—and played a huge role in his almost-downfall. She did not regret about her actions—_proud was a better word_—and she never asked him to spare her.

She could, but she didn't.

_He_ wasn't going to offer.

_Bella._

What was it with females and him?

Why did Harry, Lucius, and Rabastan caused him no troubles, but the females around him …

Narcissa was battling a moral debate with herself, and if she didn't stop, he'd have to get rid of her as Lucius's attention had to be on the business. He knew that Malfoy needed a break, and he'd give him one, but Narcissa had to be careful. Otherwise, Malfoy could start looking for a new wife.

Bellatrix managed to thwart all his grandiose plans with her stupid jealousy, and Voldemort wasn't sure he would let her live. She was faithful and extremely loyal, even going to Azkaban with pride, but she forgot her place for a second and he couldn't allow it to happen again.

_She wasn't the best anymore._

And Hermione …

Voldemort shook his head as he imagined her reaction and the consequences.

While he could blame it all on Bellatrix, it was his fault that his own servant forgot her place. And the reason why she had forgotten it was also him.

And he was late to the wards' disturbance as he was chatting with Albus and decided to postpone his visit to Australia.

All his plans for the near future were falling apart and he hadn't foreseen that.

"Sit."

He knew it was English when he saw his Death Eater shiver and sit down again, back into the corner.

He should have read Bella's thoughts as well, but he was busy with the redheads and Harry.

He even let the rest of the Weasleys go as he didn't want to push Hermione to the edge. She needed to fall, but she still had to return to him.

Italy would join the Union, and Lucius had to get his break before Rabastan. That left Voldemort to deal with all the Ministry or Hogwarts mess.

The new proximity ward alerted him of the arrival, and Voldemort inwardly cursed again as he hit a chair with a bang.

Fuck!

How had he missed a ward?!

He grabbed the crying Bellatrix by her arm as he saw two running figures enter the house, and as he looked at the mad with panic, smart brown eyes, he knew their journey wouldn't be like a straight, smooth road; it would be more like a path in a wild jungle with predators, high rocks, and deep holes on the way.

What could he say?

"You murderer!"

She jumped at him, and it was only Potter who held her back. Harry understood everything as he saw the shivering Bellatrix in the corner, but Hermione would blame him, not Bella.

He could even read the thoughts she had now.

_He didn't torture her father while fucking with Bellatrix, even if his wand was out._

He had been trying to help him.

He, Lord Voldemort, had been trying to restore the brain of a filthy Muggle.

He wasn't going to apologize—_my bad?_—or find excuses. He wasn't some soft fluffy teddy bear, and while he didn't want Hermione's parents dead, he couldn't change anything now.

"It's not a very good day, is it?"

What else was there to say?

He was _so_ going to torture Bella ...

He watched his Mudblood fall down on her knees and wail as she hugged her mother's body, and Voldemort saw Potter glare at Bellatrix in the corner.

The brown eyes were filled with hate as Hermione looked at him, and Voldemort Apparated away, taking his shivering servant with him.

What a bad day.

_xxx_

Harry was looking at Hermione's sleeping form on her parent's sofa as he swallowed his pills.

The day was just going from bad to worse.

Hermione had run to him in Grimmauld Place—_where Harry was very busy getting high_—demanding answers, and for the first time, Harry just told her everything.

The drugs were still a topic they didn't agree on, but it wasn't as bad as Harry had thought it would be.

They talked for a long time and there were a lot of tears, but Harry felt relief that he had been correct.

Hermione understood and even told him that he saved George, allowing him to leave with dignity.

And Bill and Fleur.

Voldemort had seriously planned on sending the bomb over to the young family, but somehow, he didn't. He blew up the empty joke-shop instead, and Harry wasn't sure why. Now he knew why.

It was not only because he agreed to kill George. It was also because Voldemort didn't want to destroy Hermione.

Molly Weasley and Ron didn't agree with the judgement, and when Harry and Hermione had Apparated into the Burrow, the scandal and the screaming were horrible.

Hermione was a star-seeker, he was a ruthless murderer, and they were to never enter that house again.

It was their fault that her family was destroyed and children dead.

Molly's exact words that hurt both him and Hermione.

Ron refused to talk to them, and therefore they had left, returning to Grimmauld Place before Hermione jumped up in horror when the hidden alarm in the good luck charm ward on her parent's house alerted about intruders.

It looked like Voldemort had his own alert wards as when Harry and Hermione finally came to Australia, it was too late.

They were late.

_Just like Voldemort had been._

Poor Hermione.

While it had always been Hermione who acted like a mother, now it was Harry's turn to hold her when she broke into pieces.

Hermione was the only person he had left, and he really loved her.

Like a sister.

Harry took a deep breath as Hermione started to cry in her sleep, and with a shake of his head, he patted her hair.

She loved Voldemort.

_Whoa._

And Voldemort wasn't that bad to her—_Harry's life as Horcrux hadn't been anywhere near horrible either, but then again, Voldemort had not known about his own soul being stuck in him_—and Harry wondered what he was up to.

Harry was sure that Voldemort had been innocent—_probably for the first time in his life_—as it made no sense for him to kill Hermione's parents—_and man, Voldie had been really pissed at the insane hag_—but Bellatrix on the other hand …

Considering Hermione's _situation, _that mad piece of shit hated her guts.

How had Bellatrix found out about Hermione's parents?

Harry closed his eyes as a wave of pleasure washed over him, and he sat into the chair.

He was a murderer now, George was dead, Mister Weasley was in Azkaban, Ginny belonged to Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione's parents were murdered, and the rest of the Weasleys hated him.

_Voldemort had been right again_, Harry thought while looking at Hermione's sleeping form.

It wasn't a very good day.

The only good thing was that Bellatrix Lestrange would now face an enraged Dark Lord, and there was no guarantee Harry would ever see her insane eyes again.

Bitch.

_xxx_

_a/n Now you can give your vote to the character you want to "save". If you could choose one name from the poll, I'd really appreciate that. I'll keep the poll opened until I decide what to do with all of them, as they don't matter to this story, and I don't have a special plan for any of them. It will be an opened polled, so you'll be also able to see the results._

_a/a/n I so was going to blow the Shell Cottage up, but hey...it's more fun that way, isn't it? So, I gave it a thought, and I have decided to time jump a bit in the next chapter. I cannot tell you when I'll update, but hopefully soon. Please review and let me know what you think. Your thoughts encourage me to write more, and I think that benefits us all. No? :) Thank you for reading and until next time! Waves_


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